


Playing for the Other Team

by shellaura



Series: Through the Years [1]
Category: Football RPF, Real Person Fiction, Sports RPF
Genre: 80's Music, Anal Sex, Angst, Awkward First Times, Beards (Relationships), Bi-Curiosity, Borussia Dortmund, Bundesliga, Champions League, Cheating, Cruising, DFB-Pokal, Developing Relationship, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, FC Bayern München, FC Schalke 04, FIFA World Cup 2010, FIFA World Cup 2014, Fifty Shades of Gay, Friends to Lovers, German Football, German National Team, Germany, Inspired by Real Events, Jealousy, Love Triangles, M/M, Misunderstandings, Oral Sex, POV Multiple, Past Relationship(s), Sexuality Crisis, Sharing a Room, Shaving, Slow Burn, Training Camp, Trapped In A Closet, Travel, UEFA European Championship, UEFA European Under-21 Championship, Versatile Manuel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-08-31 01:39:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 34,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8558227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shellaura/pseuds/shellaura
Summary: The relationships of Manuel Neuer, Benedikt Höwedes and Mats Hummels through the years 2007 - 2016.





	1. 2007 - It’s a Sin

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, I would like to thank my beta [ j_eronimo ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/j_eronimo), who stuck out longer than I though she would.
> 
> Secondly, let it be said here that while this story is based on and ties into true events, at the end of the day it is still a work of fiction.

**2007**

**_It’s a Sin_ **

 

_For everything I long to do_

_No matter when or where or who_

_Has one thing in common, too_

 

It’s minus four degrees centigrade out, so Schalke 04’s training session is held indoors. As usual, the heated gym hall ends up too warm and filled with the whole team, the confined space invites feelings of claustrophobia. The stench of sweat fills the room in no time and makes it even harder to breathe. Because Manuel Neuer didn’t want to wear his padded, long sleeved goalkeeper jersey, that is designated for these occasions but makes him perspire just by looking at it, he has to be careful not to burn his skin off on the wooden floor every time he dives headlong for the ball. Usually he steadies himself in training, the routine exercises stabilize him after a bad game. But there’s not the slightest chance of it working today because he knows he is at his best outdoors, in the open, where he can throw himself into the grass, chasing the ball like a Golden Retriever playing fetch.

He doesn’t know why everything seems to be going awry lately. The native of Gelsenkirchen is finally where he always wanted to be: a professional football player. More than that, he is the regular keeper: the “number one” in the squad of the club he has been rooting for all his life. He should be ecstatic. He is anything but. His start into the 2007/2008 season has been tough. Every mistake he makes gets hyped by the media and sends critics riling. Their coach is constantly under attack for trusting an inexperienced and venturesome 21-year-old in important matches. The last thing Manuel wants is to let other people down yet that seems to be all he is doing lately. It feels like everything he does is wrong and there are days he doesn’t want to get out of bed.

Right now at least he can blame it on the season. It’s winter and he’s learned in school that people get depressed when there is a lack of sunlight. Manuel doesn’t particularly care for sunlight, not consciously, but he doesn’t like the cold. He has to wear two pairs of gloves, so his fingers don’t go stiff and numb. Colleagues tease him about the moisturizer he uses to keep the skin on his hands from drying out. The snow is only exciting for the first few days, then it becomes dirty and sluggish and wets his feet. What bothers Manuel most of all this time of year, however, are the Christmas songs that take the radio stations hostage and force the celebration of a religion on the world that delights in making people feel guilty and inadequate.

 

When training is finally over, he thinks the day can only get better. He is wrong. Some of the boys are making stupid jokes in the locker room, more ignorant than outright homophobic but they strike a nerve nonetheless. Manuel is used to it, football being the testosterone-fuelled sport it is, the display of absolute masculinity and male clannishness always challenges the borders of homoeroticism. Some of the players feel the need to constantly re-establish their heterosexuality to reinforce those borders and put them on the safe side, at least in their minds. Manuel doesn’t know how it will ever get better, how their line of work should evolve with this kind of ongoing separatism. Perhaps it will never change, a competitive team sport relies on the “us versus them” mentality after all.

Manuel’s circle of friends outside the club isn't necessarily the most liberal minded either. With its 266.772 inhabitants, Gelsenkirchen isn’t exactly a small town but it’s not Cologne and- how could it be any different in a place that has “church” in its name?- religion seems omnipresent. Lucky enough to have grown up in Buer, the most prosperous and most conservative part of the city, Manuel had spent a lot of his free time at retreats organized by the Catholic parish. When he noticed there was something about himself that his peers would not approve of if they found out, he stopped going to church and devoted himself entirely to sports.

Being familiar with something and being okay with it are not the same thing. Manuel packs his bag quickly so he can get out of there before he gets himself demoted to bench warmer with some imprudent comment that is not going to accomplish anything. As he leaves the main building of the training grounds and walks towards the bus stop- another drawback of the chilly weather is that he can’t ride his bike to practice- Benedikt Höwedes catches up with him. The two have quickly become good friends because they’re amongst the youngest in the team and although Manuel has been called into action more often than Benedikt, they both feel like the newbies of the squad.

Benedikt is all bubbly, talking about his girlfriend. Their four-year anniversary is coming up in a few months, as is her birthday. He asks Manu which of the gifts he should spend more money on, which one is more important. How the hell should Manuel know? He hasn’t the slightest idea of anniversaries, relationships, or women. All Manu can think to do is point out that Christmas is happening before either of the events. But Benedikt already has a stocking stuffer for her, a pair of designer heels that perfectly match the dress she is going to wear at the Schalke Christmas party. And of course that leads to Benedikt asking Manuel who he will bring as his date to the gathering. 

It’s things like this that make him despise the holiday season. Christmas, New Year’s Eve, Valentine’s Day. Those come in such rapid succession and he is overwhelmed with finding a girl he can hold onto and hold off for so long. If she is skinny enough or has a toned and muscular body he can follow through sometimes, but acting straight with everyone involved is wearing him out and it isn’t fair to either of them. Perhaps it is time for him to find a professional beard.

As if Benedikt has read his thoughts, the younger man changes the subject all of a sudden.

“The gay jokes the guys made earlier were really stupid.”

Manuel shrugs and hopes he looks genuinely disinterested. He doesn’t know why Benedikt is bringing this up, why it would even matter to him.

“Gay men have hard enough lives as it is without being subject of ridicule.”

Manuel feels an itch to say something snarky. Benedikt is so naive, completely unaware of the double entendre in his sentence.

The blond’s lips quirk as he asks, “Oh yeah? What makes their lives so hard?”

Benedikt is looking at Manuel intently. It’s disconcerting but Manuel is fairly certain nobody knows about him, not even his close friend.

“You know, I heard that homosexuals meet up in Buer, in the park near Berge Castle after sunset.”

“And at Gelsenkirchen central station,” Manuel doesn’t add. 

 

* * *

 

Cruising Buer would be more convenient for Manuel as he lives only a ten-minute bike ride away from the park. Yet this is one of the reasons he prefers cottaging at the central station. With people passing in transit, it’s more anonymous and he has every reason to be cautious. He knows he has to stop now that Schalke has signed him on to play professionally. Once, he tried taking a guy back to his place. Manuel's father had come home much earlier than expected and while they'd never spoken of it, their relationship had been strained since. Not long after, Manuel moved in with his mother and stuck to being a good Catholic around his family and a shameless slut with nameless train passengers.

The bathroom stalls at the railway station have large gray doors, that are set so low that one would have to specifically bend down to check how many pairs of feet are in a cubicle. The squeaking turnstile outside the men’s bathroom announces when somebody enters the facilities even before they open the door to the stalls. It’s enough of a warning to pause until they have left. But today Manuel hears the grating metal bars just as he is about to come and with a train guard pounding his prostate relentlessly, he is not in a position to hold back. He bites down on his fist to stifle a groan. It kind of works, he is sure if the man who has entered the cubicle next to them is not too suspicious, he could take it for nothing more than a bad case of constipation. The sound of skin hitting skin could be dismissed as someone slapping his own thigh repeatedly in frustration. The vocality of the conductor’s own orgasm that follows not long after might tell a different story but most of it is drowned out by the toilet being flushed next to them. The conductor is trying to catch his breath while Manu strains his ears to catch the sounds of the lock, the door and then the water running in the sink as the intruder washes his hands.

The guard removes the condom from his softening penis, throws it into the toilet and flushes. Manuel rolls his eyes in annoyance, not only at the noise the other cruiser so readily makes but also at the improper disposal. He wants to tell him off but he is too afraid the third man might still be out there. As the red tie draws up his pants, his stamp pliers clank against the floor, the green tiled wall and the stainless steel toilet seat. He breaks into a grin that exudes sheepishness and mischief at the same time. It’s the grin that made the young footballer follow him to the bathroom in the first place, but now he finds it repulsive rather than enticing. The pleasure Manuel experienced just moments earlier is completely forgotten. He is irritated. Apparently he is the only one who gives a damn about getting caught. He waits a couple of seconds but there is no noise coming from the other side of the door and Manuel can’t stand a second longer crammed in this tiny space with this infuriatingly nonchalant man. He pulls up his jeans and closes his zipper. As he opens the door, he readjusts himself and his hand freezes on his crotch. There is a man standing by the futuristic silver sinks. No, he’s not a man. He’s a boy, 19 years of age, a student at the Gesamtschule Berger Feld and Manuel’s teammate at Schalke. It’s Benedikt.

Manuel’s face pales and he immediately racks his brain for an excuse he could present as to what he was doing in a toilet cubicle with someone in a _Deutsche Bahn_ uniform. He can’t think of anything even remotely plausible and his hand is still cupping the front of his jeans, which Benedikt has obviously seen. He quickly withdraws it. The train guard brushes past him and out the door, taking advantage of the fact that Benedikt is completely transfixed, his gaze locked on Manuel. The son of a bitch’s carelessness was what probably got Benedikt suspicious yet he is the one that gets to leave unscathed. Höwedes hasn’t glanced at the man for more than a second, wouldn’t be able to pick him in a lineup. Even though he is as much to blame for this situation as Manuel is, the football player is the one having to face the consequences. And he didn’t even wash his hands after having had three fingers up the younger man’s ass. 

Manuel’s anger flares up again, he is angry at everyone, starting with the man who is long gone. The sex was nowhere near worth the embarrassment, the shame he is feeling. He is mad at himself. What kind of 21-year old boy has sex with strangers in public toilets? He is furious with the world for putting him in a position where he has to live this secret life, where he has to sneak around a train station to get what he wants and yet he never does.

He isn’t mad at Benedikt, however that is who Manuel takes it out on. After all, not only in their profession the best defense is offence.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”, he hisses.

Benedikt’s eyes widen at the venom in Manuel’s voice and he is too stunned to reply.

Manuel remembers the conversation they had not two weeks ago, a cold shiver creeping up on him. “Are you spying on me?”

“What? No! I had to pee,” Benedikt stutters. “I’m getting the nine o’clock train back to Haltern and not all of the regional trains have functioning toilets-“

Manuel briefly wonders if Benedikt is afraid of him. He decides that he could work it to his advantage. He takes a step forward and raises his chin in what he hopes is a menacing gesture, “If you ever tell anyone…”, he spits out and a drop of saliva lands on Benedikt’s cheek. The younger man doesn’t flinch.

“Manuel, I wouldn’t. Of course I wouldn’t. You’re my best friend,” he says.

The goalkeeper doesn’t know how to reply to that. He doesn’t think he’s ever been called that by anyone before.

Benedikt’s voice is meek, gentle.

“You could have told me.”

Manuel laughs self-deprecatingly.

Benedikt cocks his head, “But if you’re so worried about getting caught, why are you doing this?”

It’s a legitimate question but Manuel chooses to misinterpret it because it plays so well into his insecurities.

“Yeah go ahead and judge me. I’m filthy, vile. I’m a sinner. You think you can tell me anything I don’t already know?“

“Manu, I wasn’t-“

“But guess what?”, Manu points a finger at him, “You might have come in here to take a leak but you stayed because you knew what was going on.”

Manuel is grasping at straws to keep himself afloat, trying to get leverage and not drown in the mess he’s made. He doesn’t expect Benedikt to nod.

“You’re right”, he says.

The blond blinks. A strange feeling rises inside the pit of his stomach. Nervousness? Manuel feels more vulnerable now than in the moment he realized he had been caught and he can’t hold his friend’s gaze anymore. He is terrified of appearing weak so he takes one stride past the doe-eyed youth and busies himself with washing his hands. He pays extra attention to the cuticles and scrubs at his fingernails like a surgeon preparing for an operation.

“I was curious,” Benedikt says and turns around so he can meet Manu’s eyes in the mirror.

He hesitates and the goalkeeper’s mind supplies him with the next sentence a split second before they leave the defender’s lips.

“I am curious.”

Manuel spins around and grabs the other man’s face with his wet hands. He hasn’t thought of his friend this way before but he would have never let himself. Viewing anyone he worked with in a sexual context would wreak havoc on his compartmentalization skills. Still, now that Benedikt has knocked on this door, Manuel is all too eager to burst it down. He presses his half open mouth onto Benedikt’s parted lips. For the first few heartbeats the kiss feels off, it doesn’t add up. They’re not moving in the same way and it feels like they’re speaking different languages. Manuel is used to sloppy, hard and tongue-fuelled kisses, so the way Benedikt caresses Manu’s lips with his own is surprising and he has to slow down and tame his fervor to match the pace.

His lips are fuller than the other man’s but they sink into Benedikt’s soft movements like into satin sheets. When they find the perfect to and fro, it reminds him of the times he slept in his grandfather’s waterbed, being rocked gently by the smooth waves underneath him. It ends far too quickly for Manuel’s taste. He hasn’t even had a chance to explore the inside of Benedikt’s mouth. The disappointment almost makes him whimper.

“Not here,” Benedikt whispers.

At first, Manuel takes it as rejection and quickly clenches his teeth, draws up his shoulders to keep his composure. Then Benedikt smiles at him and the glint in his eyes makes him realise it’s not. It is a promise of more to come.


	2. 2008 - Don’t You Want Me

**2008**

**_Don't You Want Me_ **

 

_Don’t,_

_Don’t you want me?_

 

Manuel and Benedikt have a great relationship save for the sex. Despite Manuel’s initial concerns, their friendship hasn’t really changed since taking on this new level. They still hang out after practice, meet up on free days to do some training of their own - Benedikt has vastly improved because of the one on one attention he is getting, even the coach has noticed and lets him play more often - and on the job they can count on each other the way they always have. In fact so little differs from how they used to be that Manuel sometimes wonders if what he and the younger man have even qualifies as relationship. They do the same things they did when they were just friends, only now when they play video games on Benedikt’s console, sometimes one of them reaches over and distracts the other by getting him off, or at least attempts to.

Manuel attributed the awkwardness of their sexual encounters to their lack of experience. For Benedikt it’s the first time with a man, the first time with someone other than his girlfriend of four years. For Manuel it is the first time with someone he knows and cares about, the first time doing it a second, third and fourth time. It takes some getting used to. Much like their first kiss, the pacing of their lovemaking was vastly different. In order for them to find a common ground that they could both move on, Manuel had to learn to slow down and get used to foreplay.

They should have gotten over it with time, with each encounter as they got used to each other’s bodies. Yet the strange feeling prevails. Now Manu suspects it has something to do with the fact that Benedikt doesn’t talk about sex. Neither does he do much talking during, before or after sex. It makes it really difficult for Manuel to find out what works for the other man and what doesn’t. He’s not going to press the issue because he has a feeling that wouldn’t end well. Benedikt is very defensive, on the pitch as well as off. He’s tried telling Benedikt what he likes in order to encourage him but that just made the other man flustered and close up like a clam as soon as they had finished.

Manuel has first-hand experience of the hit to the ego that inadvertently comes with any criticism to one’s sexual prowess, as constructive as it may be. His ears still turn pink when he remembers an encounter years ago, the utter shame he felt, kneeling in a cubicle of the central station’s toilet facilities and taking directions from the no-nonsense suit who had decided to pick up an 18-year-old boy along with his coffee during his half hour layover in Gelsenkirchen.

Nevertheless he knows without these specific pointers he never would have gotten to be as good at giving head as he is now and Benedikt is reaping the benefits. In this specific department the more slender of the two is enjoying himself plenty, that much Manuel knows. He studied the other man’s behaviour intensely and extensively, looking for clues in Benedikt’s body language, any indication that could help Manuel assess the other man’s comfort level. He found out that Benedikt is partial to receiving blowjobs, takes an active interest in giving handjobs and loves any form of frottage. 

The minute anything to do with either of their backsides comes into question, that is when everything goes to shit - not in a literal sense of the word, although that could be a contributing factor of Benedikt’s fear. Manuel knows that not all gay men practice anal sex. And of course he knows that every couple is different. Still, it is something that he derives great pleasure from, on both giving and receiving ends and he is sure he could make Benedikt savor it given the chance. But Benedikt already freezes up when Manuel grabs his butt cheeks in the heat of the moment when their cocks are rubbing against each other. A conversation about potentially taking things into this direction will have to wait and Manuel is going to be patient.

 

Here they are, making out, and it takes Benedikt a really long time to get hard. This has happened once or twice before but neither gave any weight to it. Manuel knows the field player is still seeing his girlfriend and it’s not merely to keep up appearances, so his dick probably has a packed schedule. Manuel also knows that he himself is especially virile, his sex drive is not easily matched and could very well be overcharging his partner. But maybe, just maybe it’s something else.

Perhaps Benedikt doesn’t want him. After all, he has never said as much. They got together after Benedikt confessed that he was curious, nothing more. The thought alone is enough to make Manuel’s own erection retreat a little and he breaks the kiss. Benedikt’s lips snap after his like a tortoise and he almost has to laugh despite the sudden uneasy feeling in his stomach. The younger man opens his eyes in shock at Manuel’s withdrawal but the mirth in the blond’s eyes lets him breathe out in relief and he motions for them to get back to it.

Manuel clears his throat to let the other man know that he is serious, despite his short lapse. After sitting up and leaning his back against the headboard of the bed, he blurts out, “Do you even like me?” 

Benedikt laughs and grabs the pillow next to him to fling it at Manuel. “You’re such an idiot!”

Manuel grabs his wrist mid-motion to stop him. “I don’t mean whether you can stand my company. I’m asking you if-”

“Please don’t ask me to tell you that I love you because that would be completely unfair,” Benedikt interrupts him.

Manuel shakes his head. “That’s not what I mean either.” 

“Then what is it?”

Benedikt rolls over, so he is nearly on top of the goalkeeper and places a hand on his stomach. He told Manuel that it's a gesture his girlfriend always misinterprets when he touches her like that. The memory finally helps Manuel find the right wording. “Are you attracted to me at all?”

“Of course”, Benedikt says and his hand moves up Manuel’s torso, following faint lines of muscles. He kisses him softly. Then he chuckles. “Jesus, Manu, sometimes you’re such a girl. Can I expect you to ask me whether your ass looks fat in your new pair of jeans tomorrow?”

Manuel grins back at him but as they get dressed to go out and get something to eat from the pizza place around the corner the question circles his mind again. Does Benedikt really _want_ him?

 

* * *

  

22 days before his 22nd birthday, Schalke is playing the second leg of Champions League against FC Porto and Manuel singlehandedly keeps the team in the running, deflecting each and every shot that comes at his goal, standing his ground even in overtime. He hauls the team into a penalty shootout and saves two of the opponent’s spot kicks. Some journalist from his least favorite newspaper would later compare his skilfulness with Michelangelo and Picasso in their lines of work. Schalke wins and Neuer is being celebrated. In the end, his coach is finally given credit for trusting this young wild keeper. They celebrate as if they won the damn competition when they have only secured themselves two more games but they made history after all. It’s the first time Schalke 04 is going into a Champions League quarter final.

The excitement and adrenaline has Manuel harder than the metal poles of his goal post on the bus ride back to the hotel and he can’t wait for Benedikt to sneak into his room as he usually does when they have away matches. However, half an hour after the players have retreated to their rooms, Benedikt still isn’t here. He is always late and they never outright agreed to meet tonight but right now Manuel is terrified. They haven’t spent a whole lot of time together since Manuel has openly questioned Benedikt’s motivation. He’s afraid of having ruined it. Their whatever-it-was was absolutely fine, even if Manuel was nothing more than a guinea pig to satisfy Benedikt’s bi-curiosity. It might not have been perfect but he would choose clumsy mutual masturbation with Benedikt over expedient intercourse with strangers in smelly bathrooms any day of the week. But maybe he isn’t given the choice. Maybe Manuel raising concern made the other man realize that his curiosity has been satisfied?

This has been such a great night. If Benedikt wants to end it, he has every right to do so but why would it have to be tonight of all nights? Manuel is pacing the room, he doesn’t think he’s ever going to be able to sleep. His penis is still mostly hard and although he isn’t sure whether he’s going to be able to come with this Benedikt issue pressing down on his mind, he has all this tension inside him that is aching to be released. His long fingers have barely slipped past the waistband of his training shorts, when there is a knock on his door. Manuel jumps, pulls his hand away and rushes to open it.

Benedikt is grinning at him wickedly as he closes the door behind himself as soon as has entered the room but he ducks away from the kiss Manuel is trying to plant on his lips. His stomach doesn’t have time to drop as he is immediately urged to close his eyes. Bene's behaviour lets him know that his colleague isn’t here to end it, he has different plans, which Manuel is made aware of when two items are placed into his hands. His eyes snap open in surprise at the familiar feel of the square shaped foil wrap and based on the knowledge of one of the items, he can guess the contents of the small plastic bottle that is the other.

“Are you serious?”

Benedikt nods.

“You want to…”

He nods again.

“You’re sure you want to do this?”

Benedikt sighs. “Shut up, this is no longer your show. You’ve done enough tonight.”

The younger man never acted this way previously, but then again this is the first really important match in their careers that they have won and he doubts Benedikt has ever had this much to drink before. He wants to say something regarding this particular matter, something mature and wise, but then Benedikt pushes, almost throws him onto the bed and pulls his pants down and Manuel decides he is not going to stop him. It’s what he wanted after all, for Benedikt to be more assertive in bed.

Well, he has to stop him a few moments later to explain that it takes more than lube for his cock to fit into Manuel. Benedikt blushes but Manuel reassures him and takes the task of preparing his cavity on himself. The defender goes even redder and doesn’t know where to look. To distract him from overthinking the whole thing and possibly calling it off, Manuel tells him to put on the condom and lather his member with the lubricant. Then the feisty Benedikt is back - “I told you, you’re no longer in charge tonight!” - and soon, they get down to business.

The initial penetration happens with much more ease than Manuel suspected. Benedikt goes slowly, gives him the time he needs to adapt. The intercourse that follows is kind of quiet again. Benedikt is moving a little too dragging for Manuel’s taste and it takes him a while to find Manuel’s prostate but when the first uphill battle is behind them and they’re both riding towards their orgasms, the shared intimacy of the act makes up for any strain they had to face to get there. As they lie next to each other, panting, coming down from their high, Manuel feels something so unaccustomed to him he doesn’t even recognise it at first. Only when he drifts off and has almost crossed over into the realm of sleep, his subconscious supplies him with the term for this warm placidity: contentment.


	3. 2009 - Bizarre Love Triangle

**2009**

**_Bizarre Love Triangle_ **

 

_Every time I see you falling_

_I get down on my knees and pray_

_I'm waiting for that final moment_

_You’ll say the words that I can’t say_

 

Manuel’s grin is wider than the entrance door he is walking through as he arrives at the sports hotel lakeside of Bavaria's beautiful Tegernsee, where the German Under-21 squad is staying for its training camp. They are preparing for the European Championship that is held in Sweden two weeks from now and Manuel is the first-choice keeper on the team. Everyone else arrived four days earlier than the Westphalian, but he has a good reason for being late. He’s just come back from Dubai, where he debuted for Germany's first national team. They won the friendly match against the United Arab Emirates and despite the lack of severity in the game he felt he was able to demonstrate a fair share of his abilities to the coach, Joachim Löw. If this upcoming competition with the junior team goes well, who knows what Manu’s future might hold?

Not only is he looking forward to partaking in his first tournament with the U-21 internationals, he is also very excited about this training camp, about playing with the boys and rooming with Benedikt. But as he tells the lady at the front desk his name, he is shown to a single room. The football association is usually not so generous with the young players. Either the high-ups are very optimistic that they will be worth the expenditure or the other players have been assigned shared rooms and because in a squad of 23 someone always gets left over, this time it’s him who fell victim to the uneven number. He’s not entirely unhappy about having a room all to himself, the privacy is going to be a pleasant change. He won’t have to drag the ever-oversleeping Benedikt out of bed in the morning so he doesn’t miss breakfast and tactic meetings. There are a lot of upsides to this new development but it’s come as a surprise and Manuel is not particularly fond of those. He likes to anticipate things, be aware of them in advance.

As a matter of fact, Manuel would have liked to try new ways to get the late riser up and running on this trip. He supposes they could still double up in the hotels they will be staying at in Sweden but by then they will really have to focus on the games ahead, so there is less time for shenanigans. Maybe he can find a way to sneak Benedikt into his room late at night. The fact that he wasn’t assigned any other player to share with is definitely the best thing about this. No matter how loudly Mesut Özil snores, they would be bound to get caught if they tried anything with him across the room. The sneaking around could be fun, Manuel tries to tell himself halfheartedly, but the truth is they’re doing enough of that already and he’s afraid it’s going to take a toll on an honest soul like Bene.

After taking a desperately needed shower, he joins his colleagues for lunch. Benedikt is sitting with two other defensive players, Dennis Aogo and Mats Hummels. All three of them are in such high spirits that out of nowhere Manuel feels a pang of jealousy that really puts a damper on the good mood he was in when he arrived. Dennis has such beautiful mellow brown skin and deep dark eyes and lips that… But it’s Mats’ arm that Benedikt’s hand is suddenly clasping as his body shakes uncontrollably with laughter. Mats Hummels, the arrogant little bootlicker, who usually looks like a drawing from the children’s books Manuel used to read: the Tigerente- tiger duck-, in his black and yellow Dortmund attire. Thankfully he’s not wearing it now, otherwise Manuel would have no other choice but to comment on the man’s poor choices in football clubs and he doesn’t want to start his time at camp with petty top dog behavior. He'd have to have a word with Benedikt about bonding with the arch nemesis later on. 

Borussia Dortmund and Schalke 04 harbor a long tradition of rivalry. Both clubs are located in the Ruhr area and play regular derbies, which are amongst the most highly anticipated matches of the Bundesliga each season. Longing for a sense of self in his teenage years, the born-and-bred Royal Blue jumped on the bandwagon of stirring up the rat race, a habit he has yet to break. Badmouthing opponents during practice is still the easiest way to start a conversation with players he doesn’t think he has a lot in common with. Confined to his box, Manuel sometimes feels like he's not fully part of the team, but whenever he cracks a joke about the bees, all of his colleagues laugh. It’s just like they say, nothing unites people like a common enemy.

Heartily, Manuel greets Horst Hrubesch, the U-21 coach, and chats with him briefly. While doing so, he makes eye contact with Benedikt, whose first reaction upon seeing him is yanking his hand back from where it was touching Mats. Manuel’s brows furrow but he can’t give it a lot more thought, as his superior proudly demands details about his trip. After summarizing the experience enthusiastically, his stomach growls, the whiffs of hot food not going unnoticed. He is released from the conversation and makes a beeline for the buffet. After loading up his plate with pasta he goes over to the table of defenders he’s kept an eye on. Benedikt looks happy to see him and the other players welcome him politely, perhaps even with a hint of awe. They want to know everything about Germany's A team, what the atmosphere is like and how it feels to play amongst the country's top representatives.

Alternating between reiterating the story and shoving food down his throat, it’s a miracle everything passes down the right pipe. It’s as soon as he finishes talking that he chokes on his food, when Benedikt tells him that he and Mats are roommates for the entire period of camp. Apparently the coach wants to build a team dynamic where the clubs they play at individually don’t matter. It’s a sensible idea, but the fact that Manuel’s sort-of-boyfriend has to sleep with this Dortmund player, who has drooping eyelids and looks like either he is perpetually stoned or wants to bed everyone is just a little too much to bear.

The two men in question however don’t seem to have a problem with that. They are goofing around and Manuel is flabbergasted at how people can get so close in only four days. Both Schalke players of course knew Mats earlier but neither ever had anything much to do with him. Now it seems like Manu has been replaced as Bene’s best friend. 

 

At the ensuing training session, Manuel sees the full extent of their unlikely friendship. The way Mats and Benedikt steal glances when they think the other isn’t looking doesn’t get past the goalkeeper’s eagle eyes. Much like on the field when he calculates the direction the ball is going to take as it’s flying towards his goal, he knows what is going to transpire. He is two steps ahead of Benedikt and Mats. Yet unlike the tangible ball that he catches more often than not, he is unable to stop this drive from happening.

He doesn’t know if Benedikt has realised it yet that he is falling for the 20-year-old, but he can see that Mats is head over heels, trying to hold back and keep his emotions in check because he thinks he doesn’t have a chance. The minute he finds out that Benedikt isn’t as opposed to getting it on with another man as he thinks, all bets are off.

Right now though, Manuel is almost certain the gangly centerback thinks that everyone around him is straight and Mats the sore thumb afraid to stick out. He’s in the same boat Manuel used to be in and for a second he feels such a rush of empathy for the other man that he ponders telling him he’s not alone. Then he thinks better of it. He and Mats aren’t friends, not by a long shot. He’s not going to come out to him and there is no way in hell he is going to out Benedikt. Neither is he going to betray his partner’s trust nor is he willing to facilitate or encourage the budding romance between the two defenders.

 

* * *

 

Two days later, they have an afternoon to spend at their leisure. Mats is off shopping in some nearby city with Jérôme Boateng, Manuel doesn’t particularly care whether they’re buying new sneakers for Jérôme’s shoe collection or conditioner for Mats’ oh so pretty hair, as long as he and Benedikt have the room to themselves. Benedikt wanted to go to Manuel’s room but the latter insisted they stay here. He couldn’t supply him with a convincing reason but Manuel is the more headstrong and tenacious of the two and the other gave in for fear that they’d still be arguing when Mats got back.

They’ve just started to go from soft to heavy petting on Benedikt’s bed, when Manuel suddenly gets up and pulls the defender with him. He moves them to the other bed in the room and Benedikt’s eyes widen in shock, “That is Mats’ bed”. As if Manuel didn’t know. He just growls and starts licking at Benedikt’s nipple. 

“What are you doing? This is unsanitary!”

Manuel is not deterred and his mouth slowly wanders down along the 21-year-old’s body.

Höwedes protests further and makes a half-assed attempt to get up but he gives up resistance when Manuel wraps his lips around the head of his cock. The blond sucks dedicatedly. He hollows his cheeks to increase the pressure as he takes in more of the member and works his tongue with diligence. He gives it his all, wants to make sure Benedikt comes hard and doesn’t forget who he belongs to. Manuel feels a little guilty at the train of thought, as though he’s pissing on him like a dog to mark his territory.

As Benedikt’s hips start to buck in a telltale sign that he’s about to climax, Manuel, still wearing his briefs, gets himself there by rubbing his pelvis against the mattress below him. They both orgasm at the same time, something that’s never happened before. It should be a binding experience, it should feel like they couldn’t be any closer to each other. Instead, Manuel is overcome with the fear that both of them had someone else in mind when it happened.

 

* * *

 

 

Along with his morning coffee, Manuel gets his first dose of Mats already at the breakfast table. That’s the way it is now if he wants to spend any time with Benedikt before the first training of the day. But today he doesn’t mind Mats sitting opposite him, stuffing his face with Danishes. Instead he obtains a great sense of satisfaction when he asks the dark haired curly-head how he slept.

“Like a log,” he replies in his smooth, deep voice that sounds so mature that it doesn’t match his baby face, after he’s washed down the last of his pastry with hot chocolate.

Benedikt, who overhears the exchange, blushes. Neuer smirks. Mats’ lack of knowledge about what happened in his bed pleases him to no end. Mats often behaves as if he’s the most intellectual of them all, even though Manuel possesses a higher educational qualification. It’s one of the many things about the other man that irritate the keeper. The wise guy being the fool today brings some relief to Manuel’s impending doom, which he is reminded of immediately as Mats’ attention is directed at Benedikt again as soon as it’s clear the tallest of the three is not interested in proceeding with the conversation.

Manuel’s lover is blind not to see how Mats is looking at him, like he is something utterly precious. It’s the way Manuel always wanted to be looked at. For a moment, he is startled. Who is he actually jealous of? Surely not of Benedikt. No, he envies Mats, of course, his new role in Benedikt’s life and the role he is going to take once one of the two makes the first move. Manuel wants Benedikt and he wants him all to himself, that is his concern, he assures himself. But his brief moment of gloating is gone, Manuel is back to being the fool, helplessly watching a car crash in slow motion. He takes comfort in the fact that he is aware of it, can prepare for it. It should make it easier when Benedikt tells him.

Manuel wonders which phrases the younger will fall back on.

“ _It’s not you, it’s me_ ” or will he even go as far as “ _The heart wants what it wants_ ”?

He contemplates how much is going to happen between the two defenders, how far are they going to take their affair, until Benedikt fobs Manuel off with “ _We can still be friends_.” 

Then he wonders whether he will tell him at all or if he expects Manuel to say the words for him, let the goalkeeper take the work out of his hands as he so often does. He doesn’t know if he could forgive him if he did.


	4. 2010 - Listen to Your Heart

**2010**

**_Listen to Your Heart_ **

 

 _I don't know where you're going  
_ _  
_ _And I don't know why,  
_  
_But listen to your heart  
  
_ _Before you tell him goodbye._

 

With mixed emotions, Manuel Neuer is on his way to travel to South Africa for the second time this year. The fear and tension he feels along with the expected excitement have nothing to do with the country. He has only the fondest memories of the place where he played his first tournament with the German national team, the World Cup, and finished in third place. No, the sense of uneasiness steadily growing stronger as the flight approaches has everything to do with who is joining him on this five-day interruption of his Christmas holidays in order to shoot TV commercials for Nutella. 

At the airport in Frankfurt, he immediately runs into Dennis Aogo, another player who after outgrowing the Under-21 team, tumbled straight into the World Cup squad. This is not the reunion he is dreading and he greets the Half-Nigerian with an enthusiastic hug that includes hypermasculine  back patting. Manuel feels the presence of someone lurking behind them, watching their exchange. As he realizes it’s the woman he invited along for self-preservation and out of injured pride, he beckons Kathrin over to make the inductions. He needs her on this trip to save face in front of Benedikt Höwedes and Mats Hummels as it’ll be his first time spending time with them since the former left him for the latter. He doesn’t tell Dennis about any of that though, he simply introduces Kathrin as his girlfriend.

Last year’s summer, all four of them - Manuel, Mats, Benedikt and Dennis- were on the German U-21 team playing the European Championship in Sweden. They won the trophy and in the night of their victory, when Benedikt should have been with Manuel, giving him a celebratory screwing, he had kissed Mats instead. Manuel knows because his Schalke colleague confessed to him the next day. It hadn’t come as a surprise to the goalkeeper but what followed did. Benedikt was begging him to forgive the transgression, promising it would never happen again. He said he'd told Mats right away that he belonged to someone else. Manuel, who never thought Benedikt would choose him over Mats, never so much as considered it an option, was so thrown by that, that he started a fight, narrowing in on the fact that Benedikt had disclosed to Mats there was someone else. Benedikt swore that Mats didn’t know who he’d been talking about- that he presumably thought he meant his girlfriend- and that he hadn’t outed Manuel but the older man didn’t believe him. They didn’t break up until the autumn that followed but this never stopped being a sore subject. It still is because for some reason Manuel can’t think of anything worse he could be in Mats’ eyes than a pining idiot, who got left behind.

Manuel finds he is alright with the split from Benedikt as long as he doesn’t have to know about him and Mats. They’re still friends, albeit less close now that they avoid specific personal subjects but it works for both of them back home in Gelsenkirchen. Manuel’s promotion to the senior squad was the best thing to happen to him in more than one way. Not only is he extremely satisfied with the direction his career is taking, but with the two defenders still playing matches with the junior team, he has the right amount of distance from them to get over his botched love life and the hodgepodge that are his feelings. 

Sporadically Mats Hummels is called into the squad of the first team to commend himself but he has yet to become a regular. He played the last international of the year just a month ago, while Manuel sat on the bench watching the game. Manuel didn’t mind Mats’ invading his safe place because Benedikt wasn’t there. He can deal with them individually. That way it’s easy for him to pretend there is nothing going on between them. In the matches Schalke played against Dortmund, their interaction was kept to a bare minimum, the heated rivalry didn’t allow for much more. It pleases Manuel that on the pitch they are enemies and Benedikt is still at his side. 

Manuel is torn from his thoughts, when the people who have been starring in them arrive at the departure gate. It turns out Mats has brought along his girlfriend Catherine as well and Manuel ponders whether he is fucking her or if she is a privy beard like his. It’s amusing that the two girlfriends he knows are real have stayed at home and Manuel wishes he could point it out to someone and laugh about it without blowing his cover. The urge passes when the two women with the same name but different spelling hit it off straight away. They make plans to go sunbathing as soon as they’ve landed in Cape Town and on the plane they insist on holding their respective partners captive in window seats so they can stick their heads together over the aisle.

While it’s an incredibly awkward situation for both Manuel and Mats, who every now and again share an exasperated or bemused glance at the chatter, Benedikt takes this new development as a personal offence. Manuel presumes he hoped to share a seat row with Mats. The goalkeeper is too afraid of either woman prattling away to gloat over his ex’ misfortune. He doesn’t trust Mats’ bubbly companion not to scream “Me too!” if his beard lets anything slip of the true nature of their relationship. But it turns out Kathrin is worth every cent he pays her.

 

* * *

 

The filming is surprisingly fun for all of them. None of the four men are particularly good at acting or even delivering their lines in a natural way. It gives them a range of opportunities to poke fun at each other. Manuel is sure that their immature behavior has to be a drag for the film crew but they are professional, keep friendly faces and the atmosphere comfortable. It’s an easy group of people to be around, the experience is liberating. The feeling of camaraderie that Manuel considers one of the absolute perks of their profession is there during every single minute they are on set.

Only when the boys get back to the hotel and Mats has to fob off Catherine's attempt at arranging a tennis double for the two “couples”, Manuel remembers. He gives Kathrin a harsh look as he falls in with the Dortmund player, telling the women they had an exhausting day- to be fair his abs haven’t felt as strained by laughter in a long time - and drags them all to dinner in the hotel restaurant. The players appear to have less to say to each other in this formal surrounding and Manuel is glad the girls lead the table conversation. He could kiss Kathrin for getting them through the fifth course single-handedly by sharing travel anecdotes, so he does. Benedikt raises his eyebrow the faintest bit while Cathy takes it as an invitation to stick her tongue down Mats’ throat. 

After everyone is finished filling their bellies and just wants to fall straight into bed, Benedikt motions to Manu that he wants to talk to him, alone. Manuel is glad there is a woman he is sharing his room with, if only so it keeps Benedikt out of it. He’s also glad that he and his former lover never really discussed sexuality apart from Manuel mentioning he’s slept with men as well as women, so he is pretty sure Benedikt thinks Manuel is bi and Kathrin is actually his girlfriend. Not that that deters him, as it turns out.

“I just don’t know if the struggle is worth it. With the two of us, it was so easy,” Benedikt sighs as the two men walk along the green belt of their hotel complex.

“Maybe for you,” Manuel says and hates that it sounds like an accusation because that is not the way he means it, he doesn’t blame the other man for anything.

He only fully realizes it now but he sheltered Benedikt as much as he could in the time they were together, afraid the other man would leave him the minute the slightest complication arose. He led the way and the younger let him. Now that Benedikt has to pull the ropes of a relationship himself or at least equal amounts with Mats, he is overwhelmed.  

Manuel rubs his face in exhaustion. He can’t be the one holding everybody’s hand all the time and he can’t be the fallback option when things don’t go smoothly.

“If this is what you want to talk to me about, I don’t want to hear it.”

“But-“

Manuel wonders what Benedikt is like in his relationship with his girlfriend, who he almost forgot in all of their drama.

“Three people? Really, Bene? You want to screw with three people now?”

He stops his outburst just in time before he strikes below the belt. He counts until five, and when he feels calm enough, he adds, “I’m out. Go back to Mats and work it out with him!”

 

Later that night, when there is still enough rage in him to keep him from falling asleep, it dawns on him that he isn’t all that mad that Benedikt might play with him. It bothers him that Mats is being played. Mats, who seems to be the only one in this scenario with actual feelings to get stomped on. Manuel knows he isn’t in love with Benedikt. He knows because otherwise he would have felt gut-wrenching agony when they broke up rather than a bruised ego and loneliness. He also knows what Benedikt felt for him was puppy love. A crush, a step above platonic admiration, nothing lasting. They love each other but not in a way that is sufficient grounds for a romantic relationship. Manuel has no idea what Benedikt feels for Mats but the youngest of the three wears his heart on his sleeve and Benedikt’s initials are engraved in the cufflinks.

No matter how much he wants to starve it, there is a part in Manuel that yearns for Hummels to not get hurt in this. It’s probably because he is the oldest of the three and someone has to take responsibility for the mess they are leaving in the North Rhine-Westphalian football scenery. After all, he brought the first of the dominos to fall when he let Benedikt in into his secret world and broke his self imposed rule of never letting his private life interfere with his career. 

Stepping up and showing Benedikt the door is the adult thing to do. It has little to do with the fact that Manuel is finally warming to Mats on this trip. He still thinks Mats is pretentious and somewhat of a show off. Then again he is pretty sure the same could be said about him by people who don’t realize it’s a carefully crafted wall he’s built to keep himself harbored. The motivations behind Mats’ demeanor might not be all that different from his. Sometimes Manuel thinks he catches a glimpse of the man behind the blossoming beauty of his façade and he wonders what it would be like to get to see all of it.

Mats is growing into his face. While he still has annoying come-to-bed eyes and when he grins his mouth literally reaches from one ear to the other, it is starting to appeal rather than appall. Manuel has noticed the five o’clock shadow and tries to imagine what he would look like if he let his stubble grow out. While Manuel’s own facial hair looks horribly out of place on his baby face, he appreciates a fine beard on other men. 

But whenever Manuel catches himself doing it, he cuts his musings short. The two of them got off on the wrong foot for them to ever be more than the casual acquaintances they are now. There is mutual respect under all that carefully maintained mutual indifference but Manuel doesn’t think anything short of a miracle could turn them into the sort of friends that would go out of their way to spend time with each other. Any fantasies about bearded Matses have no place in Manuel’s head. They get along and that is the way it should be. 

The conversation, if you could call it that, with Benedikt was an important wakeup call. Manuel had been toying with the thought of seeking a new challenge in his club career, playing the big leagues. Now he has another reason for leaving. He sees how he is an obstruction in the other man’s life. Manuel is no longer standing by his side, but in the way. He is hindering his development as a person and as a player. On the field Schalke’s defensive chain has come to rely solely on him, they rarely take the last step anymore because they know he is going to be there to save their asses. Manuel can’t do that anymore. He can’t be the one bearing the weight of a whole team on his shoulders and he can’t bear seeing Benedikt’s face light up at texts Manuel knows are not from his girlfriend.

 

 

 


	5. 2011 - Tainted Love

**2011**

**_Tainted Love_ **

 

_Once I ran to you_

_Now I'll run from you_

  

A muffled vibrating underneath his pillow tears Mats Hummels out of peaceful slumber on Valentine’s Day. He can faintly hear Cathy rummaging around in the bathroom so he knows it’s not her texting him. Digging around the bed for his phone, he expects to be greeted with Benedikt Höwedes’ name on the display. Instead, it’s a message from one of his Dortmund teammates that reads, “What do I always say? Goalkeepers are gay!” and below it, there is a link. He’s afraid of clicking it at first lest it be a nasty porn website but after blinking some of the sleep from his eyes he realizes the URL comes from an online newspaper. It appears legitimate enough to let him give in to his dawning curiosity. The article popping up claims that football “has its own Ricky Martin”: Germany’s number one, Manuel Neuer, is playing for the other team. Mats is wide awake now. He grabs his laptop from the bedside table and quickly calls up Google’s news search to confirm whether his former Under-21 teammate and current Bundesliga opponent has actually outed himself as first active player in history.

It turns out he has not, the source of the canard are several South American media outlets that have falsely translated Manuel’s statement “gay players should out themselves, it would come as a relief” as “I am out and it is a relief”. Rather than feeling the shock subside, his head starts itching with a thousand thoughts racing through his mind.  

What would prompt Manuel to talk about such a thing in the first place? Could it be that the goalkeeper’s request is a passive aggressive provocation directed toward him? Mats has always had his suspicions that Manuel might know about him and Benedikt. The blond seems like a person you could talk to about anything once you were his friend and Benedikt definitely was. Sometimes Mats wishes he had someone he could confide in, so he wouldn’t hold it against his boyfriend. Now Mats is fairly certain of the Schalke player’s joint knowledge. But why would Neuer want to humiliate him like that? What could he possibly think to accomplish? Is it a scheme to raise the stakes for their next clash?

Maybe it is only wishful thinking that he would occupy a space in the man’s head no matter the capacity, Mats muses as he skims through different websites’ recollections of the same story. Then he leaves the news section and inspects the general results for “Manuel Neuer gay” that the search engine spits out. The credibility of the posts immediately decreases but he clicks his way through them until he lands in the darker, more densely forested depths of the Internet.

“ _Manuel Neuer has the face for gay porn_ ”, is the title of a thread in a forum that discusses which professional footballers might be gay. Mats is relieved to find his name doesn’t come up. Regarding the Manuel Neuer topic, one user comments, “ _You just know those lips are made for sucking cock_.”

Mats flinches as he hears the bathroom door fall shut. In panic, he deletes his browser history and slams the laptop closed. But Cathy doesn’t come in here, instead, there are clonking noises from the kitchen.

Slumping back into his pillows and waiting for his heart rate to recover from the shock, Mats reconsiders what he just read. He thinks about Neuer’s face and mouth and his chest won’t stop heaving. The bed is too hot all of a sudden and he kicks the blankets away from him until they crumple on the floor. He notices a slight tent in his boxers that he chalks up to morning wood.

Surely you can’t tell a man’s sexuality from the size of his lips but there is something about that sentence that rings true… He can almost see the flicker in his mind as the proverbial light switch is being turned. 

The dark haired man begins to sense a reason behind the press so readily accepting Neuer’s supposed outing. A Freudian slip of sorts. If that indeed were the case, Manuel’s comment could be a desperate plea for someone to go first, ease the way for him? Mats shakes his head as if someone else suggested the idea to him. Asking for help is not a typical move for the incumbent S04 captain, who has nerves of steel and bigger balls than a stock bull.

On the other hand, what is there to say when the topic is broached by a reporter, and it had to have been, nobody on their side of the fence would bring up a taboo like this of their own accord. Anything other than what Manuel said would put every single player, if not whole clubs under scrutiny. “Stay in the closet, get a beard!” as a tip to gay sportsmen would open the door for all sorts of speculations on which of the infamous wives and girlfriends were real and who were alibis, not just from the odd geek hiding behind a computer screen but from the general public. Moreover it would be bordering on blasphemy to admit that in the tolerant society that the Germans consider themselves to be, homosexuality is professionally swept under the carpet in the sports business.

It’s not surprising he didn’t immediately see it. Mats knows his gay-dar is abysmal for the bisexual man he is. He could spot the Latino pop-star years before his coming out, but hadn’t thought for a second that Benedikt Höwedes would be interested in anyone other than his absolutely lovely girlfriend, let alone someone with a penis. Yet here they are, Mats and Benedikt, shacking up in a hotel in Essen every other week. 

Before Mats, there was a mysterious man in Benedikt’s life that he sometimes talks about but whose identity he never reveals. Mats always held presumptions that it was another football player simply because Benedikt wouldn’t have the guts to get involved with someone who didn’t have the same things to lose. Mats tried not to pay too much attention whenever he was mentioned. The thought of Benedikt with someone else, someone experienced who taught him the ropes, isn’t exactly the most pleasant one. Now he feels stupid for not listening more closely, otherwise he could have connected the dots sooner.

He types up a text message, “It’s Neuer, isn’t it?”, then changes it so there is no room left for guesswork. At this point the undisputed certainty is a bluff but he knows he needs to find out the truth once and for all and he can’t have Benedikt wriggle out of the affair. Mats hasn’t even put the phone out of his hand, when it starts ringing and the last doubts evaporate.

 

* * *

 

It’s exactly two weeks later that they see each other again, just before the party Benedikt is hosting to celebrate turning 23. Mats thinks the whole thing is kind of ludicrous because it’s not a bissextile and the man’s birthday doesn’t technically exist this year. But he shows up anyway, arriving hours before the other guests so he and Benedikt have a chance to talk. Instead of offering an apology to Mats about keeping this 1,93 meter secret from him, Benedikt goes straight to complaining about Manuel and how the soon-to-be Bavarian is abandoning him by leaving for Munich. Mats clenches his teeth. He only just found out that Benedikt used to have feelings for the man, and now he is being treated like a freaking confidante. Mats and Benedikt were and still are friends first and foremost, but when it comes to Manuel, he can’t possibly be expected to be Benedikt’s sounding board.

The Schalke defender notices Mats’ silent seething and snuggles up to him but Mats can’t stand his touch when Benedikt’s thoughts are so obviously with the other man who knows his body as intimately as he does. The 22-year-old gets up and tries on the shirt he was planning to wear to the party. Cathy bought it for him. It’s a little too stuffy for his taste but it’s enough for tonight.

Intellectually he knows a former relationship should have nothing to do with theirs but Mats cannot help feeling betrayed. All this time when the three of them were hanging out, it was Mats who was in the dark. Naively laughing with them without being aware of how deep their connection went. He spent time with them when they were together and never noticed. Not only was he not in on the joke, it feels like he was the butt of it.

Then there is the circumstance that even after their break-up, the two Schalke players were never not friends. Who is to say that there weren’t slip-ups? They were playing on the same team for years, saw each other almost every day, while Mats was at least 35 kilometers away. There is so much the two men share that Mats is not aware of and can never compete with. Despite being the sweetest man Mats knows, Benedikt is not above being a cheater and Mats isn’t even in a position to complain because if he weren’t, he wouldn’t be here with him right now.

Benedikt’s rant about Manuel is over, now he is sharing his worries about not living up to the captain’s armband that he is more than likely going to inherit. It’s the perfect opportunity for Mats to encourage his boyfriend, give him moral support and distract him with sex, instead he opts for the masochistic route to deal with the emotional turmoil inside him.

“What was Neuer like in bed?”

Benedikt sputters and his cheeks turn the color they usually have after he’s played the full 90 minutes on the pitch.

“Why are you asking me?”

Mats doesn’t have a satisfactory answer to that. He tries to recall comments Benedikt made before Mats knew whom he’d been talking about. The memory is vague, also because there wasn’t a lot of talk about the sexual aspects of his past liaison. Suddenly Mats remembers the incredibly uncomfortable encounter almost half a year ago, when Benedikt wanted to give him the last of his virginity to honor their anniversary. The attempt at intercourse failed miserably because the older of the two had been so tensed up, they never got past a preparatory finger.

“Neuer really never fucked you?”

Benedikt’s face is the reddest Mats has ever seen it.

“Not like _that,_ no,” he finally chokes out when Mats makes no move to change the subject or release his inquisitive gaze on him.

The Dortmund player is so confused he is close to exasperation. The whole time he had this image of Manuel Neuer in his head: aloof, cold, larger than life. Not that he gave the goalkeeper’s sex life much thought but if he had, Mats would have pegged him as the type of guy who got his rocks off and didn’t care whether his partner finished. He definitely wouldn’t have expected him to be considerate enough to date a person for almost two years without hitting a home run.

Mats hates admitting defeat, especially to himself, but he can’t ignore the fact that he was wrong about the other man. And it’s not like he can apologize to him, not without insulting him first by letting him know how badly he used to think of him. Desperate for penance, Mats feels the urge to start over with Manuel, get to know him for real. The impending party seems like the perfect occasion for it. His mood improves as he has something to look forward to and he changes into a different shirt, borrows one of Benedikt’s. The other man’s torso is leaner than his so the polo hugs Mats’ frame tightly.

However his good intentions fail the minute a group of Schalke players, with none other than the goalkeeper leading the way, walk through Benedikt’s front door as if they owned the place. Had they worn suits, their entrance would have been a perfect imitation of the opening credits of Reservoir Dogs. As the only Borussian, he is completely outnumbered, so he retreats into a corner of the living room where he remains an inoffensive spectator of the proceedings. The “Royal Blues” take no notice of him and continue to run the show.

Not only is Mats far too intimidated by Manuel’s sovereign behavior to approach him, but the man’s stride in the tight jeans he is wearing draw Mats’ attention to a detail he had effectively suppressed up until then. The rediscovery makes him feel both inadequate and bewildered as to why Benedikt would deny himself the privilege of taking such a fine specimen for a ride. 

 

* * *

  

The reason Mats and Benedikt meet in Essen is that it’s almost halfway between Dortmund and Düsseldorf, where Benedikt lives with his girlfriend. And because none of them know anyone in the city. The trip out to their hideaway takes Benedikt half an hour and Mats forty minutes. It’s only a ten-minute difference but as he sits in his car today he ascertains that over the past year these ten minutes each way have accumulated to ten hours. It’s still nothing, he tries to tell himself, he would drive for days if it meant he could see Benedikt. But today, for the first time since they started hooking up, he allows himself to ponder whether the other man would ever be willing to do the same for him. 

He’s worked hard to keep the self-doubts from his mind and now that they flood back in, these ten hours become symbolical for what Mats is giving and not getting in return. While Mats is always punctual, Benedikt keeps him waiting. When they text, it’s always Benedikt, who eventually stops replying. At their meetings, Mats is always the one to remember to take out cash so their room charge doesn’t show up on any credit card bill.

The realization that Mats is more invested in this relationship isn’t groundbreaking. He was always under the opinion Benedikt tried to love him to the best of his abilities. What’s new is his response to it, the conclusion that it’s not enough anymore.

Mats doesn’t take the exit ramp to Essen center but stays on the A40. As he drives past the Ruhr river, he thinks that if Benedikt took the route via Duisburg the two men must have passed each other, driving on opposites lanes. Mats doesn’t stop until he is almost at the Dutch border and the urge to urinate becomes too strong. He gets off the autobahn to use the bathroom facilities of a nearby fast-food joint. He doesn’t like highway rest stops because he’s heard too many stories of closeted men leaving wife and children in the car while making quick use of the glory holes in there. The fear of becoming one of those men is probably partly to blame for him settling for so much less than what he deserves. It stands in stark contrast to the way he strives for success in his career, he absentmindedly thinks, as he gets back into the car. From a street vendor he buys some tulips for Cathy, then he turns around and drives back to Dortmund.


	6. 2012 - Another One Bites the Dust

**2012**

**_Another One Bites the Dust_ **

 

_But I'm ready, yes, I'm ready for you_

_I'm standing on my own two feet_

 

Mats takes a deep breath, his eyes never leaving Manuel’s. Sweaty strands of dark hair cling to his forehead as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other and prepares to penetrate the other man’s holiest. Meanwhile Manuel licks his lips and braces himself in anticipation, knowing Mats is ready to pound hard. Mats wants to hear him moan, no, he wants to hear him scream. He’s waited so long for this, yet the minute he lay eyes on the blond that night he knew he was going to score. Two steps still separate him from being in the ideal position and he takes them. His upper body lags behind his all too eager pelvis and for a split second he is afraid of losing his balance, but he gives it his best shot. Manuel’s fingers graze his ball and then he’s in.

The feeling is overwhelming and turning his back to Manuel, he shouts in triumph. The minute he looks over his shoulder, his teammates catch up to him and hug him briefly in celebration of the converted penalty. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Neuer punching thin air in frustration, panting with rage. Mats thinks it’s quite possibly the hottest thing he’s ever seen. He has no time to dwell on that thought as the referee team motions for the game to continue.

 

* * *

 

After appropriately celebrating the win of the Double, the Dortmund players that have been called into Germany’s squad for the European Championship join the rest of the national team at training camp in the French Provence. Only the Bayern players are missing now, they still have a Champions League final to play.

Mats doesn’t know what to expect from camp so he goes in prepared for nothing short of war. Benedikt Höwedes has been there from the start, he’s had a lot of time to make friends and fully integrate himself. While the Dortmund center back doesn’t necessarily expect the Schalke captain to set other players against him, Mats is not going to make the mistake of letting his guard down. It’s the first time he is forced by circumstance to interact with an ex, more than that, they are all meant to bond and grow into a unity. 

When after almost two years of accepting his role as dirty little secret without protest, Mats finally called Benedikt out on his lack of commitment to their relationship, he had expected a fight, possibly several. He knew both of them were incredibly incompetent when it came to talking about feelings but Mats had really thought they could work it out. Instead, the other man simply owned up to his shortcomings and called it quits.

Mats still isn’t over the rejection. He feels ashamed for letting the other man in so deep, into his heart and his body. He tries his best to swallow his pride, act as if nothing happened. Both of them are defenders, they have to work together to keep opponents as far away from the goal as possible. He could never forgive himself if the team lost an important match just because two players couldn’t keep it in their pants.

The oblivious training staff hasn’t noticed the change in the two men’s behavior towards each other. Still thinking they are the Romeo and Juliet of German club football- strictly platonic of course-, they pair the two defenders at training sessions to encourage other players to step out of their comfort zones and perform the exercises with someone from a rival club. It doesn’t work. Perhaps, if Mats and Benedikt really are the ones to give direction to their fellow players, it’s because of the tension simmering between them, that both attempt to hide but that subconsciously pervades their every move. It’s nothing that anyone on the team can put their finger on but it doesn’t go unnoticed and so there are still cliques that form among the squad, club mates that stick with their kind.

 

* * *

 

Seven days after FC Bayern lost to Borussia Dortmund in the DFB cup final, the Bavarians play FC Chelsea in Munich. The German players at camp watch the _Finale dahoam_ together, sitting in cabanas by the pool and staring at the makeshift screen that was set up for this purpose. While some BVB players still joke about their toughest opponent in the past seasons, they all hope for a positive outcome for the German team. They need their ego intact for the European Championship and after Dortmund has gnawed at it these past months, winning the international trophy is the only way to rebuild it at this point.

Mats feels a little guilty about effectively ruining Manuel Neuer’s first season at his new club. He had been shocked to see how the goalkeeper was treated for changing his employer, from both Schalke fans that didn’t want to see him go and Munich fans that didn’t want to see him come. Mats knows the driven man would have liked to shut them down by clinching titles with the FCB. Instead he had finished second place twice and from the looks of the current game, would very likely do so a third time. Bayern had clearly been the better team in the regular 90 minutes but now that extra time had started they were losing their cool and wasted a penalty.

The final minutes of the game approach and Mats watches Manuel leave his box for good, desperate to help his teammates in the opposing half of the field. Mats half expects the goalkeeper to sprint forward and shoot the match-winning goal but before he knows it, the referee blows his whistle to announce a penalty shootout.

When Mats left Munich, frustrated with the club for not seeing his potential, he never expected to root for the “Star of the South” again. Yet now he realizes that he is squeezing his thumbs so tightly that the nails of his middle fingers leave an impression where they dig into the palms of his hand. He mumbles, “Manu, you got this,” and as if he heard him, the shot-stopper saves the first of Chelsea’s penalties. Mats is sure his heart is beating at twice its usual pace. Bayern is in the lead but none of the players in red are keen on shooting next. When Manuel Neuer unceremoniously grabs the ball and marches toward the spot himself, Mats almost forgets to breathe. The utter self-sacrifice of this action is making Mats dizzy with a newly discovered awe for the man. A murmur goes through the cabanas when he successfully converts and only then Mats becomes aware of his surroundings again, comes back to his body and his aching hands and his fellow national players.

Manuel’s teammates on the pitch are not able to keep up with him. One of them is denied by Chelsea’s keeper and the other by the goal post. Mats hasn’t really let a defeat that wasn’t his own get to him since he was in his late teens but this one keeps him up for a few hours that night. It’s a nasty reminder that sometimes the better team doesn’t win, the luckier one does. He feels a profound empathy for Manuel who poured his heart and soul into this match, exceeded himself, and it still wasn’t enough because there was only one of his kind out there. It makes Mats want to do better, try harder, be a footballer who deserves to be on Manuel’s team.

 

* * *

 

When the Bayern players finally join the lot of them a couple of days later, Benedikt flings his arms around Manuel’s neck before anyone has even had the chance to say hello. Mats feels so embarrassed at the exchange, he turns around and walks back to his room instead of welcoming his colleagues personally like he planned to. This is what he hates most about his breakup from Benedikt, the fact that it taints everything both of them are a part of. He’s not sure he can ever really be friends with Manuel if there is always their mutual ex-boyfriend looming between them. He briefly wonders if Benedikt was keen on getting rid of Mats so he could attempt to rekindle the flame with Germany’s uncontested number one. The thought makes him sick to his stomach, mostly because he’s not quite sure who he’s jealous of.

That night at dinner, Mats gets his first chance to talk to Manuel. The two of them are among the first in the hotel’s fancy dining hall. Benedikt is nowhere in sight, probably running late as he so often does. Mats goes up to the goalkeeper, who staggers at the buffet, seemingly having trouble deciding between chicken and fish. The defender hums and haws, a bit nervous now that the goalkeeper’s attention rests solely on him. Mats manages a full sentence at last, “I’m sorry about the Chelsea game, I felt so bad for you.”

It’s apparently the wrong thing to say because Manuel’s blue eyes that were resting on him with an open gleam immediately turn dismissive. “I don’t need your pity,” then he is back at his table, without chicken, without fish, just his plate of sides. Mats wants to follow him and elaborate, explain that pity is the last thing he is feeling for the other man but he is pretty certain he’s not invited at the table full of Bavarians so he joins his fellow Borussians for dinner instead. Again they’re getting off on the wrong foot, something Mats so desperately wanted to change this time around. Camp really is turning out to be the war zone he was dreading, he muses. With every step he takes he has to be careful not to set off a contact mine. He could stay safe if he stayed with his troop but it’s not what he wants.

The next morning, Manuel and Mats are among the early crowd again at breakfast. They are so early that Philipp Lahm is the only other player sitting at what is already establishing itself as the Bayern table. Mats is working up courage as he chucks some dried fruit into his bowl of porridge, then he walks over and sits down opposite Manuel. Lahm raises an eyebrow but neither man comments the bold move. There is a painful silence that Mats breaks by asking the two men how they slept. It’s polite and futile chitchat but it’s better than the three of them eating and letting awkwardness settle. Manuel suddenly grins at him as if remembering something, but he doesn’t share. Chewing deliberately slowly to bide his time, Mats tries to think of anything that could help get them into gear. Philipp leaves the table and it’s just the two of them. The Dortmund player can’t think of a time when that had ever been the case. Then Manuel mentions their Under-21 camp at Tegernsee and the conversation flows easily enough.

 

* * *

 

At their games together, Mats stands next to Manuel during the national anthem. He doesn’t remember when he got into the habit of doing so. At Under-21 matches Benedikt had usually been between them and their hands sometimes met on Höwedes’ back. But now the Schalke defender isn’t playing and Mats is basking in the goalkeeper’s arm around his shoulder. Mats feels like he can soak up the man’s serenity through the physical proximity to him, he thinks this is the best good luck charm there can be. Manuel gives each of the players a chest bump before the game and in their first match against Portugal, Mats’ giddiness at that brief touch only subsides 13 minutes later when a dangerously short pass of his leads to Manuel is being slide tackled by a Portuguese striker.

The netminder can take a lot. With balls constantly flying at your face, you have to be tough. So when Neuer stays on the floor, clutching his leg and yelling his pain into the grass, Mats is at his side within seconds. Terrified, he wants to ask whether Manuel’s alright but the muffled screams and the scrunched up posture tell him he is not, so he just touches his elbow in hopes of conveying compassion. The man rolls onto his back, his face is red and he immediately covers it with both his arms as if he doesn’t want anyone to see the glint of tears in his eyes. Then the team doctors arrive and shoo Mats away to start treating the injured limb. He stands and lets them take over but he doesn’t go far, continues to watch, feeling incredibly helpless and a little guilty. If he’d gone with his gut instinct- the one that kept Joachim Löw from nominating him for the squad sooner because he didn’t like long passes- he would have just kicked the ball into the opposite direction instead of putting Manuel in the line of fire. 

Mats’ eyes land on the abandoned match ball. Just as he picks it up the medical staff helps the blond back onto his feet. He lets the ball drop back to the floor carelessly and heads over to where Manuel reaches for his leg after taking a couple of tentative steps. Mats places a careful hand onto his bent back. Again he fails to put words to his concern and heartfelt sympathy. Their teammates are still frozen dead in their tracks, staring in their direction indecisively. Everyone knows that without their number one they have little to no chance of progressing in this tournament.

“It’s fine,” Manuel says and straightens himself, “I’m good to go.”

He gives Mats a thankful smile, then claps his gloved hands together and continues to save their asses. 

After the game, Manuel hugs each player again and when Mats goes in for his turn, the goalkeeper grabs the back of his head. He knows Manuel is not going to kiss him out on the field with a camera team circling the group of players that stand in the middle of it, but nevertheless his head forms a hopeful thought a mere moment before it is pressed against the wet light blue fabric that is covering the blond’s chest. Mats inhales the other man’s scent. Manuel’s sweat doesn’t smell bitter, it reminds Mats more of the way his own skin smells after he’s been out in the sun. Then he is being released from the snug grasp, way too soon for his taste.

 

Mats does his best to match Manuel’s complete dedication and abandon. He wants to play a great tournament, wants to live up to the trust bestowed upon him by the coaches, wants to represent his country adequately, but more than anything, he doesn’t want to let the man behind him down. He doesn’t always succeed in his quest for perfection, the gaffe he affords himself in the game against the Netherlands has him at Manuel’s mercy almost immediately after final whistle. The goalkeeper punishes him by squirting water from his sport bottle at him. Or maybe he only does it to clean him from the Dutch sweat that is trickling through the orange jersey he swapped for his own. He turns around to grin at Neuer, a joke about spurting on his lips. Then his eyes land on Benedikt, who’s walking behind him, watching the banter between his ex-boyfriends, his mouth a thin line. Mats chooses to ignore him, stacks the image away, throws it onto his pile of pent-up rage bubbling away deep down inside of him.

Inevitably as the tournament goes on, the players grow closer together. The development doesn’t stop at Manuel and Mats. The fact that both of them are set at every game has them in the same group at practice more often than not. It gives Mats an advantage over Benedikt, who is training with the other benchwarmers. He knows that keeping score on interaction with Neuer like that is not a particularly mature thing to do but should he succeed in cockblocking Höwedes at least once, he’s happy.

While Mats only discovered the similarities between Manuel and himself in the past year, when he found out about the other man’s sexuality, they are still so different from each other in a lot of ways. They start out arguing the Euro games they watch, Manuel almost always has a perspective on things that opposes Mats’, perhaps it’s because as a goalkeeper he sees the matches from an entirely different viewpoint or perhaps it’s just that the two of them are two sides of the same coin. It’s surprisingly refreshing. Mats has rarely had someone who challenged him in debates, measured up to his passion and intellect with a contrasting opinion. He never thought it could be such a thrill to talk to another person for hours without coming to an agreement.

After their furious win against Greece, which the media hyped up to be a political showdown, they almost start having one of their heated discussions on the field. Mats exchanged his jersey for an opponent’s again, but this time he isn’t wearing an undershirt so instead of pulling it on, he stuffs the sweaty thing between the waistband of his shorts and his Under Armour boxer briefs for minimal skin contact.

Mats has stopped listening to what Manuel is going on about because the other man’s shoulder is resting against his arm pit and he makes no move to pull it away. Neuer gesticulates as he talks and now his shoulder rubs along Mats’ own. In one hand he’s holding a towel, the other one he waves about until it inevitably brushes against Mats’ bare torso. His finger tips land on Mats’ solar plexus then they move up to the space between his pectoral muscles. Manuel’s thumb hovers slightly above Mats’ right nipple and just as Mats starts to wonder whether there is any deliberation behind his touch, the hand is gone. 

That night he finally gives in to the fantasies that have been building up for a long time now. 

He steps into the rain shower in his hotel room and lets images of Manuel Neuer’s eyes and mouth, his lips and his tongue and his retroclined front tooth, wash over him together with the water. He remembers the other man’s bare buttocks he caught a glimpse of in the stadium showers. Mats never lets his gaze linger in the changing rooms, not because he thinks he won’t be able to control a physical reaction but because he’s polite. The glimpse was enough to burn itself into his memories and what Mats wouldn’t give to be able to touch those full, firm cheeks. He wants to grab them, dig his fingers into them, then spread them apart slowly to reveal the raw dark skin between them.

As he touches himself Mats thinks about the man’s broad shoulders that complete the wonderful curve down from his neck so marvelously and that carry such heavy weights. He thinks about his strong arms and whether they’d be able to lift Mats, have his feet off the ground and back pressed against the tiles of this very shower. He grips himself tighter as he tries to picture what it would feel like to have Manuel’s giant hands on him. The hands that are soft in parts because they are well cared for and calloused in others because of their abundant use. Mats’ own hands squeeze and relax, slip up and down. How would it feel if the other man touched him with his goalkeeper gloves still on? He comes hard before he’s even had a chance to weave Manuel’s formidable cock into his imaginations.

He doesn’t feel guilty after. _Thought is free,_ and thought is all he has. He’s convinced he’s never going to have an actual shot with Neuer, the man is out of his league. Sometimes, like today, he thinks Manuel’s behavior towards him borders on flirting. In all likelihood, he only reads between the lines because he knows the keeper is gay. It makes him feel like the worst kind of hypocrite, after all he wouldn’t like his friendships with men questioned because of his orientation. 

No, looking at it objectively, the younger man is certain Manuel is not interested in him.

Even on the off chance that he were to be, Benedikt will always waft between them, either in his physical form or as a ghostly manifestation. Their past with the third man would never not obstruct them. Sharing an ex-boyfriend… the only thing Mats can think of that is more marginally incestuous than that would be sharing a sibling. Mats tries to keep the what-ifs from his mind as best as he can. No use crying over milk that will never get spilled.

 

When they play Italy in the semi final and lie a goal behind because of a mistake on Mats’ part, Manuel does it again. He abandons his half of the field and joins them in a counterattack. Mats’ heart breaks as the man throws himself all in, his goal empty and unguarded, ready to make a martyr of himself. When the game is over, their dreams shattered, Mats feels tears welling up in his eyes as much for their devastating loss as for the other man’s selflessness that goes unrewarded yet again. Manuel deserves so much more than this and tonight it was Mats of all people who let him down.

Long after everyone’s retreated to their rooms to lick their wounds, Mats finds himself in front of Manuel’s door. Staring at the striped carpet in the hallway he vaguely makes the connection that their quarters in Warsaw are of the same hotel chain as the place he and Benedikt used to meet up in. All of a sudden he feels dirty. What is he doing here? He’s just come out of an emotionally toll taking relationship and now he wants to be the one to take advantage of another man’s vulnerable state?

He continues to stare at the piece of wood that separates him from the man he has come to desire, until the three-digit number on it blurs before his tired eyes. The apology he owes Manuel can wait until tomorrow, in fact it should, so Mats can work through what to say and profess his sincerity. They all need to sleep on it before they can fully grasp what happened. Tomorrow Manuel and Mats can talk about the game in full sobriety. Still the dark haired man can’t bring himself to move away from the door.

Then his phone starts ringing and jolts him into action. Mats takes a couple of bounding strides down the hall before answering the call.  
“Hey babe, I’m downstairs,” Cathy’s high, clear voice sighs into his ear.

“On my way,” Mats curtly replies and heads towards the elevators, inwardly thanking her for saving him from God knows what mistake he would have made, had he knocked on Neuer’s door.

 


	7. 2013 - There Is a Light That Never Goes Out

**2013**

**_There Is a Light That Never Goes Out_ **

 

_And if a double-decker bus_

_Crashes into us_

_To die by your side_

_Is such a heavenly way to die_

 

Mats snorts derisively as a cater waitress approaches him with a champagne tablet. He thinks it’s ridiculous to serve champagne to the team that only finished in second place. The whole celebration is ridiculous. They lost tonight, Borussia Dortmund wasn’t able to beat Bayern Munich this year, in the “all-German” Champions League final, and that is what’s most prominent in each of their minds. Tonight is too soon for them to see beyond their failure. Despite his fretfulness he grabs two flutes, with the intention of handing one over to Cathy but when he sees she is busy taking pictures- of herself, rather than say the Victorian landmark they are currently in- he downs the second glass as well.

Thanks to his profession depending on his body to be in top shape, he isn’t much of a drinker and he hasn’t touched the food at the banquet, so it doesn’t take long for him to feel the bubbly. The alcohol rushes straight into his blood stream and goes to his head. As the edge of his disappointment wears off, so do his inhibitions and next thing he knows he has his phone in hand, already signed in to the WiFi, and writes a WhatsApp message to Manuel. 

“Get me out of here.”

When the Dortmund players passed through the makeshift tunnel the Bavarians standing on either side of them built on their way to receive silver medals, the blond hulk of a man had taken a step forward and grabbed Mats’ arm with one hand and touched his back with the other. It happened so fast that Mats didn’t understand what the other man was saying to him, he guessed something along the lines of “Good game” and he just responded with an exhausted nod.

Now he can’t get the exchange out of his head because he saw that Manuel slapped hands with other Dortmund players but he can’t recall him stepping forward and leaning in to do so, that privilege was granted only to Mats. He wonders if it had any significance.

WhatsApp shows two check marks, telling him that Neuer’s phone received the message. Mats is getting a tingling sensation in his stomach, equal amounts hoping for the other man’s response and dreading it. It comes faster than expected. 

“Where are you?”

Mats has just typed in the first few letters, then he pauses. He heads back into the large entrance hall, where the _Schwarzgelbe Night_ \- ridiculous name for a ridiculous celebration- is well underway and snaps a picture of the dinosaur skeleton in the middle of it all. He doesn’t have to wait long for Neuer’s reaction.

“WTF?” Mats grins. His phone buzzes again. “Seriously, dude, where?”

“I am serious. BVB bosses thought it’d be fun to have our banquet at the Natural History Museum.”

Manuel doesn’t reply this time, unsurprising considering the man has his own party to attend to, a party that, contrary to this one, is going to be brim with excitement and happiness. Their team won after all. Mats decides to take a walk around the museum but he doesn’t get far as all the exhibition rooms are locked. Obviously the museum management wouldn’t want some beer swigging footballers to paint their invaluable collections with vomit.

Apropos beer, Mats thinks and heads over to the bar. He hates the bitter taste, which is why he can only drink it when he’s in low spirits and indulges in making himself feel worse. He’s chugged down about two thirds of a pint when his phone rings. It’s Neuer. Mats stares at the screen for a few seconds, flabbergasted. Just as he finally brings himself to press the green button to accept the call, the other man hangs up.

Mats decides to call him back in a couple of minutes time. He doesn’t want to appear too eager and he would like to find a quieter place for them to talk, perhaps also finish his beer first, for courage, but before he can do anything at all, his phone announces an incoming text.

“Come outside!”

He furrows his brows, not able to make any sense of the message. Then he decides that fresh air couldn’t do him any harm. Leaving his beer behind, he sneaks past the smokers that huddle in front of the entrance and the doormen that have been forced to wear tasteless yellow and black bobby uniforms. Despite it being the end of May, it got a bit chilly in London as soon as the sun went down and he pulls on his suit jacket.

Mats decides to walk around the building. He has almost reached the side entrance, when a black cab pulls up next to him. Not wanting the driver to consider him a potential passenger, he walks a little faster. Then he hears the car door open and a familiar voice shout, “Hey you!”

His head whips around to look at the person leaning out of the vehicle.

“Manu? What are you doing?”

The other man grins so broadly Mats can tell he’s had a few. “Just following your orders. I’m here to rescue you.”

Mats quickly contemplates whether he should go back inside and tell Cathy he’s leaving. Then it occurs to him that she wouldn’t just let him go without asking questions. _Why?_ _Where are you going?_ _Can I come?_

A little remorseful, he decides to text her instead and gets into the car. He silences his conscience by telling himself that she’s going to be fine, there are drivers arranged for the players and their partners and now she is going to have theirs all to herself.

“So, where do you want to go?” Manuel’s gloriously blue eyes sparkle as the light of a streetlamp reflects in them.

Mats is overwhelmed at the fact that Manuel is really here. Just stopped by the opponent’s post-match ceremony as if it were nothing at all. Taking Mats at his word - _get me out of here_ \- when he meant it more as an empty phrase rather than a demand to be taken literally. Unable to fully grasp the man’s presence, Mats turns to take in his appearance. Manuel is sporting dark, loosely sitting training bottoms and a playful red T-shirt FC Bayern undoubtedly handed out to the players, with the slogan “ _Football is coming hoam_ ”. Mats can tell by the collar that peaks out almost coquettishly above the neckline of the shirt that underneath, he is wearing a dark blue polo. The defender feels very overdressed next to him and takes off the black bow tie, stuffs it into his jacket pocket. Then he unbuttons and loosens his own collar.

He remembers the other man’s question and he sighs, “I don’t know, take me anywhere. Anywhere I can’t hear myself think. Somewhere lively.”

Manuel makes an exaggeratedly confused face, which Mats thinks looks positively adorable.

“Do you want to go back to the party in there?” he asks very slowly, dragging the words.

“It’s not a party! It’s a bunch of people trying to hide their disappointment with false optimism and dinosaurs.”

Manuel laughs. Mats becomes acutely aware that they haven’t moved and that the driver is looking at them expectantly. The realization that someone from his team could leave the building at any time and pass them adds a sense of urgency to their predicament. He wouldn’t have the slightest clue how to explain their current situation.

Panicked, he leans forward and tells the taxi driver, “Just start driving please!”

“Where to?” the man asks, trying to keep a polite smile but Mats can sense the irritation behind it. He shoots a helpless glance at Manuel, who appears tickled.

“I know better than to ask whether you want to join the Bayern party.”

Mats huffs at him, then racks his brain for a destination so they can finally start moving. He wants to be in a place filled with people and yet have him and Manuel be the only ones there. He wouldn't mind being completely alone with Manuel but he can't very well tell his friend that without raising suspicions regarding his intentions. Maybe they could go someplace they'd converge automatically.

He starts thinking out loud, “It’s London, there’s got to be like… you know… for… Oh God!”

Contrary to the driver, whose impatience seems to be impregnating the air in the cab, Manuel is calm and not in any hurry.

“What?”

Mats shakes his head and fixes his eyes onto his shoes. “Forget it. I don’t know why that came to my mind.”

The goalkeeper bumps his knee against Mats’ to get him to look back up. “What?” he asks again, then he makes a sound of realization. “You want to go to a gay bar?”

“Forget it, it was a stupid idea. The two of us couldn’t…”

The driver doesn’t look like he speaks any German but Manuel lowers his voice anyway. “No, if you want to go… I’m sure there are discreet ones.”

“Oh come on, in the country that invented tabloids!”

“I doubt British tabloid press care very much about German footballers that don’t play in their league. Would they even know us?”

Mats taps his nose as he pretends to think, “Does football’s home country know the world’s best goalkeeper?”

Manuel blatantly ignores the compliment. “I still don’t think we’d run into any football enthusiasts ratting us out.”

“Stereotype much?”

“Not at all, just speaking from experience. Of course there are queer men that like football, I don’t have to tell you that. Women too, but very rarely are those the ones that go out on nights when there is a Champions League final on TV,” he takes a look at the driver, “I guess we shouldn’t take a cab there though.” 

Manuel’s deductive skills enchant Mats and he grabs the goalkeeper’s knee in excitement. “Let’s get a car!”

In English he asks, “Can you take us to a place where we can rent a car?”

The taxi driver’s mood darkens further. Understandably so, not only have they kept him waiting for so long, now they want him to take them to a competing business.

His tone is a little sulky as he says, “I don’t think any of these places are open at this time.”

Mats glances at his phone to see it is 2:29 am. Then he realizes it’s actually an hour earlier, he hasn’t set his phone to Greenwich time.

“What about airports? They usually have Hertz and Sixt and with late night or early morning flights coming in, they should be open.”

“Alright, what airport?” the driver asks and drums his fingers against the steering wheel.

Mats doesn’t know whether he wants to laugh or cry at the fact that they might very well never leave this parking space at all.

“London has five major airports. Which one do you want to go to?”

“Not Stansted,” Mats says, “That’s where we landed and it was a long drive away from the city. What about yours?”

“London City Airport?” Manuel asks rather than tells their chauffeur but the car finally sets into motion.

 

They pass Harrods and Buckingham Palace and Mats can’t decide whether to look out the window or at Manuel sitting next to him.

“So you win the most desired trophy in European club football and instead of celebrating, you come to hang out with one of the losers?”

“First of all, you’re not a loser. You are… You guys played amazing-“

Mats interrupts him, “Who are you? What happened to the man who used to loathe Borussia Dortmund?”

Manuel seems too confused by the question to answer and he continues his earlier elaboration, “Secondly, the trophies might change but the celebrations are usually not all that different. Same people, same speeches. This season we celebrated when we knew we were gonna win the Bundesliga, then again when we actually did. We celebrated every successful round at Champions League and we will have another celebration next week when we win the cup and with it the Treble.”

Mats chuckles, “Alright I take it back, you haven’t changed. You’re still every bit as arrogant.”

Manuel doesn’t reply, Mats can only see the other man’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. He meant it as a joke, the last thing he wanted was to upset the other man so he quickly goes on, all the while keeping his tone light. “If you’re fed up with partying so easily, maybe you should have transferred to a relegation team instead of the championship record holders?”

Mats bites the insides of his cheeks at another bit of teasing that he could have worded more fortunately. Manuel and he have never discussed the goalkeeper’s move to Munich. It could still be a bit of a sore subject even though he has obviously put down roots in Mats’ former home. The beginning was difficult and Mats is certain this isn’t something Manuel would particularly like to discuss with the Dortmund defender, who has just recently been upgraded from acquaintance to friend.

Luckily Manuel takes it as the quip it was meant to be and smirks, “Fed up? Never. Your text came at a very convenient time, that’s all. I left the banquet with the other players, only instead of heading straight to the after-party like they did, I made a little detour. Didn’t want to get into a party rut. So you better enjoy the company of a freshly baked Champion’s League champion while it lasts.”

Oh, he intends to do that. Mats bats his lashes at him and decides to test the waters, “Will you let me touch the trophy?”

Manuel raises his eyebrow in amusement, then stares out the window to catch a glance at the Tower Bridge they are just passing and Mats is none the wiser.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, he asks, “Can you die in peace now?”

“Who said anything about dying?”

“I mean, after winning…” he trails off because he suddenly realizes that despite not having won tonight and not having accomplished all the goals he set himself as a child, he wouldn’t be too upset if his life ended right here, right now. This night is far from perfect. The taxi is stuffy and smells of the passengers before them, greasy and stale. His temples pulse slightly with an upcoming headache because he’s had his contact lenses in all day and still hasn’t swapped them for his glasses. But he’s here with Manuel. Manuel Neuer, who can push buttons Mats never knew he had, who makes him feel grounded and floating above everything all at once. The two of them are an absolutely odd pair, like mismatched socks, and they step on each other’s toes all the time. Nevertheless this moment, this random adventure they are impetuously on, is so fulfilling, Mats wants to freeze time, stay. 

“The Champions League?” Manuel says in his dragging voice again, thinking Mats stopped talking because he forgot the name of the tournament, “Gee, how much have you have to drink?”

Mats perkily throws the question right back at him.

“A lot. I probably wouldn’t be here otherwise,” he laughs but Mats feels a little stung by the comment, especially considering the train of thought he just had, disappointed their togetherness could mean so little to Manuel when it does the world to him.

It’s always the same, he capitulates in his mind, it’s never going to be any different. He should have known from his failed relationship with Benedikt that generally, people don’t take things to heart as much as Mats does. He can be sentimental to a fault and it’s up to him to curb it, not for others to up their ante. It’s unfair to expect this haphazard moment to matter to Manuel just because Mats romanticizes it in his head. So what if he doesn’t treasure Mats’ company like he wants him to, it doesn’t change the fact that he is here with him.

The younger is torn out of his musings when Manuel clears his throat and looks at Mats earnestly. “Not quite ready to die. There are a lot of things I haven’t done yet.”

The way he lets his gaze wander along Mats’ body at that has Mats’ hopes up, higher than ever before.

 

They overtip the taxi driver to make up for being such inconvenient passengers. Only as the black cab has disappeared into the night and the cool air brushes their alcohol-flushed skins, do the revelations set in.

“Crap, I forgot they drive on the left side here!”

“Manu. Manu, we’re drunk… or tipsy, but I don’t think either of us is actually in a position to drive right now!”

“Doesn’t this airport look kind of deserted to you?”

The glass doors don’t slide open automatically as Mats approaches them. He sighs.

“It says here, it’s open from 5 am until 22:00, no wait, until 13:00 on Saturday. Do you think the driver knew? He had to!”

Manuel stares blankly at the advertisement for Avis car hire, useless now.

“I really forgot that they drive on the left side! We were on the fucking road and I didn’t notice,” he mutters, “We would have gotten ourselves killed.”

Then he looks at Mats and the two men burst out laughing. They laugh so heartily that Manuel is doubling over and Mats grabs Manuel’s shoulder to keep himself upright. 

“The driver… asshole… and we gave him this giant tip…” Mats is having trouble breathing let alone getting an entire sentence out of his mouth.

Manuel is starting to have hiccups along with his giggles.

As the spell wears off after a few minutes, Mats brushes tears from his eyes.

“What do we do now?” his voice sounds hoarse after the guffaw.

“Get another taxi?”

They look around but they already know that there are no black cabs anywhere near them.

Manuel grabs his phone and starts typing.

“Are you texting for a taxi?”

“No, I’m actually googling… trying to find a place, you know so we don’t have the same problem we had earlier.”

“Oh you smart, smart man,” Mats has to grind his teeth together to keep from smothering the man with kisses but he can’t bring his hand to not ruffle Neuer’s blond shock of hair.

“You still want to-“

“Of course!” Mats says a little too fast. He doesn’t want this night to end. Not now, not ever.

Manuel looks at him quizzically, as if he is trying to calculate something, possibly make sense of the dark haired man. Mats figures he has to keep the goalie from thinking too much before he decides he’s had enough and drops him off at Dortmund’s team hotel. “So have you been to a lot of…”

“Gay bars, go on, you can say it,” Manuel grins and looks back into his phone.

“Have you? How have you gotten away with it?”

“You make it sound like murder,” he chides but the grin is still playing around the corners of his mouth as he goes on, “Abroad mostly. Makes going unnoticed easy but can sometimes get in the way of… What do you think of this one?”

He hands Mats his phone on which he’s pulled up the website of a club. The homepage is simple. Black with white initials and the name of the club spelt out in all colors of the rainbow. _Boys’ cafe-bar on three themed floors_ , it says. Mats scrolls through some pictures of the venue. Funky lamps, foam parties, karaoke nights, dancing people, half naked men, women with virulent lipstick. He nods and gives Manuel his phone back.

“It’s quite central and it’s not too…specialized. If we do get caught, we can talk ourselves out of it, saying we didn’t know.”

Mats is a little scared by Manuel’s knowledge on the subject. What did he say? _Abroad_ … _can sometimes get in the way of_ … of what? Picking up people? Mats knows Manuel has been to Greece a lot and he tries to picture him flirting with a young Adonis whose language he doesn’t speak, the only thing they can communicate with is their bodies. The image is arousing and oddly unpleasant at the same time. Then he wonders about the specialized bars Neuer mentioned. Was he just talking about gay bars that didn’t allow straight or female customers at all? Or is there more to this scene that Mats doesn’t know about? Was Manuel thinking of fetish bars, S&M clubs, is the other man into that sort of thing?

He has a lot of questions but he’s afraid of asking them, he doesn’t want Manuel to look down on him and laugh at his inexperience. So he just nods in agreement and offers to call a cab.

While they wait for it, the two men start scheming. They will get the driver to let them out at Leicester Square, an innocent enough location, not far from their desired destination. Then they will walk towards the place, acting more and more drunk the closer they get and when they reach the small street it’s on, they will stumble in and pretend not to know what hit them.

 

Their plan proves successful up until the point they actually reach the bar. Mats is having the time of his life, pretending to be much more wasted than he is. It gives him the perfect opportunity to cling to Manuel for a few meters, grab at him like touchy feely drunks tend to do. 

“You should take your shirt off!” Mats stage whispers and lets his hand rest on the man’s chest for a few seconds before drawing back.

“Isn’t that a bit much?” Manuel asks, then he looks down at himself and realizes he’s still wearing the FC Bayern shirt. As he pulls it off, the polo underneath gets tangled and offers Mats a wonderful glance at Manuel’s pale stomach that looks promisingly soft despite the faint line of looming muscles.

Manuel fixes his outfit and Mats chuckles at the combination of designer- and sportswear out in public. Then he laughs some more when he spots a group of people down the street dressed in a similar fashion.

“See? I fit in perfectly with the youth culture here. But you, my dear, are far too overdressed.”

So Mats removes his suit jacket, undoes the cufflinks and pushes up the sleeves of his white dress shirt. The action has him fall back a little, blindly following the other man and this is why, when Manuel stops dead in his tracks, Mats runs headlong into him.

“It’s closed.”

“What?” Mats moves his head to take a peek at the bar without moving away from Manuel, who he is still mostly pressed against.

Manuel produces his phone from the training pants and checks the time.  
“It’s not even half past 3, what kind of club closes at…” he tries to look for a badge with opening hours but Mats all but whimpers when Manuel makes to step away from him.

Mats doesn’t know if it’s the exhaustion from the day finally catching up with him or if he’s still wound up from his street acting but he puts his head on Manuel’s shoulder without thinking too much about it.

He feels the other man draw in a breath, then mutter something about London being a capital city, a metropolis and it ought to have a proper nightlife.

Mats nuzzles the man’s neck.

“I’m sorry you don’t get to take some gorgeous hunk back to your room tonight,” Manuel says and the way he seems to have trouble speaking and his wording that is too perfect of an opening, give Mats the courage to finally jump in head first.

“I don’t?”

The goalkeeper turns around and Mats doesn’t miss that before reaching his eyes, the other’s gaze flicks down to his lips for the briefest of seconds.

The magic of the moment is ruined as Manuel’s phone starts ringing.

“Dammit,” the blond curses and rejects the call.

“You can take it,” Mats says, not meaning it.

“No, it’s just Thomas.”

He doesn’t say anything else and because Mats knows this could very well be his last opportunity before their transfer window, their chance to move from friends to something else closes again, he presses on, “I’d take you back to my hotel but I think my teammates are either all back there by now or turning up one by one. It’d be kind of hard to sneak you in.”

Manuel’s eyes drop to Mats’ lips again and this time they stay there. “Our after-banquet party is at our team hotel…”

Mats huffs, both amused and annoyed, “Basically, both of us have hotel rooms here that we can’t-“

The keeper’s phone rings again. This time Mats can see the name of the caller on the display. It’s Mario Gomez.

“Popular,” is all he says.

Manu presses the red on-hook signal on the touchscreen again. Then he looks at the time on his phone.

“Do you think we can find a decent place around here that’ll let two men check in at quarter to four with no prior reservation? A place that won’t ask any questions and won’t answer any asked by a generous magazine?”

Manuel might be the one experienced in gay club culture, but Mats knows a thing or two about hotels to have affairs in. He remembers seeing a branch establishment of the chain Benedikt and he used to go to, tonight. Four stars but accepting cash payments even for the compulsory security deposit. He scratches his chin as he tries to think of where it was.

“There is a place like that…” he grins as the location comes back to him, “Just down the road from the Natural History Museum.”

“So basically we’ve spent the past two and a half hours going in circles…”

Mats sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“If I had said something earlier, made a move when you picked me up, it could have saved us a trip… or three.”

Manuel’s eyes widen ever so slightly. “You’re telling me this is not a spur of the moment thing?”

Mats feels his throat getting dry and he shrugs, not trusting his voice enough to speak.

Manuel growls in frustration.

The defender clears his throat. “Well, it’s the best things that come in threes.”

“What?”

“Taxi? Should we get a third one?”

“Right.”

They head back down the road where they came from, passing two more clubs that have rainbow flags waving above the entrance, both of them closed. The only cars in the street are red double-decker busses and black taxi cabs.

Mats flags one down and as they squeeze into the leather back seats, a strange tension gets into the car along with them. He can tell that Manuel’s breathing is different now, it’s not exactly labored but not the default inhale-exhale either. There is a hyper awareness to everything around them and Mats, who has never had a problem with self-control, is taken over by such a need that not only his cock, no, his whole body is hard for the other man. The heat radiating from Manuel wafts over the car seat and has Mats’ skin tingling in anticipation. He can’t even look at the blond for fear of not being able to restrain himself if he does.

They’ve only been in the car for a few minutes that feel like hours now that they are so close to getting what they both want, when Manuel’s phone rings for a third time.

“Crap, it’s… This one I need to answer,” he says and takes the call.

The person at the other end speaks for a while. Mats can tell from the timbre that it’s a woman.

“Why are you even down there? Surely if both of us were missing, they wouldn’t be asking-” Mats is satisfied to hear the irritation in his voice at the disturbance, but the feeling disappears as soon as he hears the other man swearing at whatever it is he is being told.

Manuel hangs up the phone with, “Alright, I’m on my way.” 

The tingling sensation subsides and Mats’ stomach sinks.

Manuel takes his hand and whispers, “I’m so sorry.”

Then he leans forward and tells the taxi driver, “Change of plans, I need to go to the Landmark Hotel.”

“Did something happen?” Mats asks.

“Apparently some people are getting suspicious that Kathrin is the only one that claims to have seen me in the past couple of hours.”

In spite of the chagrin, Mats can’t help but snort with laughter, “Do they think she killed you?”

Manuel shrugs, then grumbles, “Those people! They forgot Javi Martínez at Camp Nou, did you know that?”

“Well I guess, if the number one goes missing that attracts a bit more attention,” Mats says, surprisingly calm.

“You’re not mad?”

He’s disappointed that their time together is cut short and pretty sure that he’s having the worst case of blue balls in his life, but he is not mad. “You turned my night around, I had a great time. I really would have wanted to, you know, but I don’t regret the hours we did spend together.”

Manuel huffs dismissively and Mats tries his best not to feel offended by it.

“Our time will come,” he adds when the driver stops a block away from the hotel so nobody sees Mats in the car. He truly believes it, even when Manuel hands a bundle of banknotes to the taxi driver, telling him, “That should cover his fare as well,” and nods in Mats’ direction as if he couldn’t speak or pay for himself and Mats feels a little like a paid off whore.

He still clings to the thought, desperately, when a month later he is invited to play in the charity match for Neuer’s children’s foundation - on the opposing team to _Manuel Neuer and Friends_. There is no rivalry, it’s all fun and games and the players of both teams go for a couple of drinks after, before departing into their respective holidays. Manuel treats him as if their London taxi road trip never happened and Mats tries to convince himself they could still have a future.

He admits to himself, he might have been wrong, when another two months pass before they see each other again, when they do it’s at a friendly they’re playing with the German national team against Paraguay. The defense is unable to cope and Mats is so un-attuned to Manuel that the two men start yelling at each other on the pitch. Then Manuel tells him to kiss his ass and they both know he doesn’t mean it as an invitation to his bedroom. That is when Mats thinks that maybe the chance they’ve missed in London was their only one, the moment for them come and gone.


	8. 2014 - You Keep Me Hangin' On

**2014**

**_You Keep Me Hangin' On_ **

_Why do you keep comin' around_  
_Playing with my heart_  
_Why don't you get out of my life_  
_And let me make a brand new start_

 

Mats lets himself fall back into his beach chair ungracefully after posing for pictures with Cathy the way he usually does with his fans. As winners of their group the German team successfully qualified to the knockout stage of the World Cup and as a reward, the players are allowed visitors today. Less than a handful of wives and girlfriends are in Brazil at this point, but Cathy is among them. She’s been in the country almost as long as the team has and entertained them all with a preposterous “travel column” in a tabloid that would tear the defender to pieces if they found out who he really was.

Normally Mats’ encounters with Cathy are more un-coerced. The two of them get along well enough to comfortably maintain their purposive relation. The staging of the obligatory photo that will go on her social media accounts to document their meeting is not exactly a tough task, but today they both weren’t particularly keen on each other and hid behind their sunglasses. Mats has had to endure a lot of ridicule because of her, from colleagues and from the media, and she’s holding against him that he’s refused to run to her defense when the topic of her sand-traps was broached at a press conference.

The two of them are spending his free afternoon on the beach of Santo André and despite his annoyance at her behavior, he appreciates the distraction she offers. It gives him a break from fretting about Manuel Neuer, something he’s been doing a lot of lately. Over the course of the past months Mats has been given mixed signals by the other man - or so he thinks. Maybe there are no signals at all and Mats is just reading too much into the spark in the man’s blue eyes whenever they spend time together. 

The whole squad has been getting along really well in Brazil. The Campo Bahia with its little shared houses and its abundance of entertainment options has given them opportunities to bond while at the same time eliminating the hazard of cabin fever. The officials and organizers have learned from 2012, where a lot of club colleagues stayed amongst themselves, and allocated a wild mix of players to each house. The fact that Mats is now living with Philipp Lahm and Thomas Müller has caused him to ascend in the admittedly flat hierarchy of the squad. He is now part of the elite that plays Sheepshead in their spare time, the four-person circle being completed by Manuel Neuer, who is sharing his house with Benedikt Höwedes amongst others.

The two Bavarian natives and Mats, who grew up in its capital, have delighted in teaching the South German card game to the electoral inhabitant of Munich. Sheepshead is one of those little things Mats didn’t know he missed since relocating his whole life to Dortmund. Whenever he visits his family or friends that still live back home, he’s always far too busy trying to catch up with everything that’s been happening in their lives than to fully appreciate it.

Not only does Mats enjoy being embraced by players who seemed to have been in an impenetrable bubble back when he first joined the national team, he’s happy that he gets a chance to reconnect to his roots. Yet there are moments when this makes him feel like a hermaphrodite of sorts, when he realizes he’s not a real Bavarian and he’s not a real North Rhine-Westphalian either. And then there is that one person who understands just how that feels and it makes Mats all the more frustrated that he doesn’t know where he stands with Manuel.

Neither of them ever mentions what almost happened in London, they’ve never uttered a single word about that night. Nevertheless it’s still on Mats’ mind. He’s spent more time thinking about those few hours than they actually lasted. He’s not even sure how accurate his memories are anymore now that he has wept away a year trying to figure out where he went wrong and what he could have done differently.

The only conclusion Mats has been able to come up with, playing those precious moments over and over in his head, is that he’s made himself vulnerable enough. Mats does not go where he’s not wanted and he’s decided that he’s not going to make any more advances to the older man. The ball is in the goalkeeper’s court. Mats is determined to learn from his mistakes with Benedikt, he won’t ever go all in again when the other person isn’t as head over heels as he is.

Manuel’s name falling from Cathy’s lips, somewhere it has no place being, jolts him out of his thoughts.

“What?” he asks and blinks against the sunlight as he raises the Ray-Ban’s from his eyes.

“Can you ask Manuel when he expects Kathrin to come to Brazil? I was talking about her in my column and the editors think we could make an episode about her doing my hair.”

Mats huffs, lets the glasses drop back onto his nose and peels himself out of the beach chair. In lieu of answering, he heads over to the bar. Cathy follows him like a poodle. She thankfully drops the topic of her “column”, only to go off on a tangent about the food and hygiene standards in Brazil. Whether she is consciously trying to undermine the great time he is having in this country or if she is just talking without thinking as she so often does, he has no idea but he’s had enough of willfully failing to hear her remarks for today.

“How would you know? You’ve imported food from Germany, you refuse to leave your hotel and when you do, you only visit chains you’ve already been to-“

Either she doesn’t catch the reproval in his voice or she is the one to ignore him this time.

“Yeah, I’ve been following the rules to avoid tropical diseases: Boil it, cook it, peel it or forget it.”

The bartender heads over to them and Cathy makes a big deal out of explaining that under no circumstances is tap water or any ice allowed to touch her drink. She fishes out a paper wrapped straw from her bag. At this point Mats is so irritated that to spite her, he orders his virgin Caipirinha with _muitos_ ice cubes in it and when he receives the drink, deliberately sucks one into his mouth and chews on it. Cathy looks at him disapprovingly and Mats grins, the crushed ice melting on his tongue.

But the joke is on him because he spends most of that night on the toilet. When the stomach cramps persist until the next morning, he has no other choice but to inform the medical staff. They immediately quarantine him, he has to stay away from the team lest he infect anyone else. He is put on bed rest, can’t join the training sessions and he has to eat alone in his room.

Great, because more time alone with his thoughts is just what he needed. The most embarrassing thing about this is that now everyone on the team knows he has diarrhea, including the man he’s still hoping to bed some day.  

 

* * *

 

After being thoroughly pampered by the on-site physicians, Mats is well enough to join the team’s flight to Porto Alegre the next day, but they still dissuade the coach from banking on him to play. The special diet and medication he’s been given worked wonders. As instructed, he made sure to drink plenty of water to make up for the fluid depletion. But now he has to stay close to the bathroom for a different reason: he has to urinate almost every half hour.

So Mats doesn’t join the team on their ride to the stadium, he stays behind in his hotel room and watches the match on TV. He is glad he doesn’t understand the Portuguese of the commentators narrating it, as his team is having a really hard time getting into the game.

Mats knows he is a good defender, of course he is, but everyone on the national team squad has enormous quality and he’s never thought of himself as irreplaceable. Nevertheless there is disarray in the defensive chain tonight and he knows to some extent it links to his absence.

Throughout the tournament, they’ve already been having slight problems because the coach went with four trained center-backs in the starting formation. Funnily enough Benedikt Höwedes, who’s never played a fundamental role in the national team before, has been bending over backwards to make it work. Mats is happy for him, the Schalke captain adapted to fill the wingback position really well. He’s also making a great game tonight but the whole team still seems overwhelmed by their opponent’s fervor and aggressive style of playing.

Mats, who’s merely pitied his stupid mistake with the ice cubes up until this point, is now petrified. Never in a million years would he have expected it to have such fatal consequences. What if his knee-jerk reaction to nettle Cathy would cost his team the World Cup? They were only in the best of sixteen, if they lost this game, they would fly back to Germany as a complete disgrace, with the worst outcome in a tournament since 1938.

But amidst the chaos of the game and Mats’ rising dread, their tower of strength rises up in his dark blue jersey, the number one flocked on its back. Manuel Neuer, solid as a rock, is evidently unfazed by the troubles the people in front of him keep having. He is there where Mats is missing, taking up the defender’s job, clearing shots outside of the goal area with head, chest and feet. Inside the box, his hands are everywhere they are needed and in the same motion with which he keeps the ball from the goal, he swiftly instigates a counterattack.

Mats was always conscious of the man’s abilities, he hasn’t kept calling him “world’s best keeper” for nothing, but to see all of his prowess displayed in a single game, on a world stage that would intimidate most, he is baffled nonetheless. The coolness with which Neuer sweeps about the pitch, declaring himself a new incarnation of the thought-to-be-extinct species of libero fills Mats with an utter pride to know the man. The way he once again takes everything for the team just like a duck takes to water is close to bringing tears to Mats’ eyes.

Spurred by this continued display of absolute abandon, the other players seem to remember who they are and who they are playing against and after two predominant halves of extra time, Germany deservedly emerge victorious. The endorphin rush tires Mats out quickly but he forces himself to stay awake and wait for the team. He just has to congratulate, has to thank Manuel in person, for keeping them in the competition.

Only Mats doesn’t really get the chance because when the squad arrives, people swarm and buzz around the MVP. For all Mats waits in line to get a chance to talk to him, like a fan waiting for his turn to get an autograph, he doesn’t get more than two words out before Manuel’s attention is demanded elsewhere. Mats just stands in the hotel lobby with drooping shoulders looking as the other man turns away from him so easily. He keeps staring at the back of his head, at the perfectly trimmed whorl of blond hair that reaches the tanned neck ever so slightly, waiting for him to face Mats again. Benedikt finally draws Mats away from the hustle and bustle, inquiring after his wellbeing. The concern in his eyes is so earnest that Mats helplessly slumps against him as they head towards the elevator. 

 

* * *

 

 

When Mats scores against France and a cluster of cheering teammates forms around him, Benedikt is there again, among the first to arrive at his side and the very last to leave. He has his hands around Mats neck as he whispers congratulations into his face, bombards him with compliments and in the whim of ecstasy, his lips ghost over Mats’ ear. A shiver of long forgotten fondness rushes through Mats at that and he basks in the familiar touch for as long as he can before the game resumes.

As soon as the referee blows the final whistle, Benedikt is back at his side, hugging him. For a moment, Mats is back in 2011, when this was what he so longed for. As he closes his eyes and holds onto the man, their surroundings fade into the background and he remembers the hopes he had, the two of them against the world. But when Mats’ hand comes up and touches the back of Benedikt’s head, the lack of hair under his fingers reminds of all that has happened since then and he lets his arms fall back to his sides.

Today it is Mats’ turn to be overrun with well wishes from all sides but Manuel only gives him a thumbs up and a clap on the back. Mats got a kinder reception from the French player he swapped his jersey with in the catacombs and he mutters, “Seriously?” as Neuer moves away from him and into the shower.

The disappointment he feels at this enrages Mats. This was his game. He scored and he fought his ass off to make sure the result stuck. He is pretty certain this is going to become one of the defining moments of his career, he was even elected “Man of the Match” by the FIFA. He is not going to let Manuel Neuer and his lack of a reaction ruin this for him. So on the bus and on the plane as well as on the ferry back to Campo Bahia, he decides to stick with people that care about his achievement and for the most part, Benedikt happens to be one of them.

The two defenders slide so smoothly back into their friendship as if the past two years haven’t left their mark on Mats. All the anger and hurt he used to feel seems to have been drained from him. More than anything he feels relieved to have Benedikt back in his life. Like a secure blanket the other man manages to wrap himself around Mats again and the warmth he feels is what reminds him it’s been something he was lacking. In that regard, Benedikt is like the game of Sheepshead.

They’re comfortable around each other, there is no tiptoeing and no eggshells to walk on. Mats doesn’t have to worry about concealing his quirks because Benedikt already knows them all and accepted them a long time ago. When Mats feels strongly about something, Benedikt might not agree but he doesn’t put up resistance. Benedikt is safety, whereas Manuel could only ever be danger.

But there are days when Mats feels he’s sitting on the fence, legs dangling on either side. For now Benedikt resumes his role in Mats’ life as a friend but Mats has a feeling the addition "with benefits" looms just around the corner. He’s still not sure what that thing between himself and Manuel is… or was. Now he couldn’t be further from finding out, with Benedikt taking over the space in his head that Neuer has occupied for the past year. Whenever the blond goalkeeper does pop up, Mats tries to tell himself that he doesn’t need closure, because nothing ever happened. Something tied to so much effort before it even begins couldn’t possibly end well, could it?

Germany play their semifinal against the host country. Brazil is the opponent they’ve been most nervous about but the minute they have one foot in the door, the first goal scored, the German game flourishes and flows. They’re having fun on the pitch and live out their love for the sport, scoring one goal after the other.

The final against Argentina that follows is the complete opposite, it’s a tough and exhausting match. Germany’s players are challenged by a vigorous opponent that pushes them all to their limits. It’s 120 minutes of hard work and only one goal that decides their fate but the result is the most rewarding of all. Champions of the world. They’ve all dreamed about Germany claiming victory and a fourth star on their jerseys since they were children, now they themselves made that happen.

 

* * *

 

As Mats and Benedikt stumble away from the dance floor, laughing and dripping with sweat, in almost an exact mimicry to the celebration of their triumph five years ago when they won the Under-21 European Championship, Mats has an epiphany. The ease between Benedikt and himself is not something that’s always been there, it is something they’ve attained after inching their way towards it. The first step is always the hardest, the one toward Benedikt was no exception. Pink strobe lighting of all things is what finally makes Mats aware of the rose tinted glasses that have been clouding his vision of their past.

On June 30th, 2009 at around 3:00 a.m. Malmö local time, after Mats spent the whole summer lusting after him, he pulled Benedikt into an alcove of the club they had just tumbled out of. It was where the owners stored their trash cans and Mats was aware they only had two minutes at best before the other players would notice their absence, but emboldened by their victory and a few glasses of Dutch courage, he leaned in and kissed Benedikt. In consideration of the unromantic setting, it was surprisingly innocent and sweet. Then Benedikt, white as a sheet, pushed him away, told him he was involved with someone else. During the three months that followed the two defenders ceased all forms of communication.

Abruptly sobering up, Mats scans the room but he can’t find the person he is looking for.

“I have to go,” he tells Benedikt and bolts from the hotel’s party venue. He checks the terrace, the outdoor pool and the beach access, and while he runs into players scattered among all of those places, the one he wants is not among them. He curses himself for getting distracted and wasting time.

Impatiently he hits the elevator button although its orange lighting has already been on since the first time he pushed it. Finally, he gives up and heads to the flight of stairs, where he runs up to the floor the players are staying on. He is out of breath as he reaches Manuel’s room and he knocks, ready to throw caution to the wind and himself into the other man’s arms.

The blond opens the door wearing only black training bottoms. Mats is still panting and for a second all he can do is stare at the beautiful bare chest in front of him.

“Beer shower from Thomas,” Manuel says by way of explaining and when Mats raises his head to look at the other man’s face, he notices his wet hair.

“Are you alone?” Mats gasps.

Manuel nods and Mats pushes past him, inviting himself into the other man’s room. He kicks the door closed and wraps his arms around the other man.

“You don’t smell like beer,” he mutters before closing the remaining distance between them with a kiss.

At first Manuel responds cautiously, then he all but takes over the reins, eagerly pushing Mats against the door and his tongue into Mats’ mouth. His giant hands come to life, one of them cups Mats’ cheek, with the other he grabs a fistful of black tousled hair. Their tongues touch, sending a wave of pleasure straight into Mats’ groin and he moans into the kiss, opening his mouth wider, inviting Manuel to go deeper.

Suddenly Manuel breaks away and wipes at his lips. It’s a gesture Mats hasn’t seen since he planted his first peck on a pigtailed girl in kindergarten and a cold feeling starts to creep up in his stomach, contrasting the heated rest of his body.

“I took a shower,” Manuel says.

Mats narrows his eyes in confusion.

“I took a shower, that’s why I don’t smell like beer. I was just getting ready to head back downstairs.”

His yearning gains the upper hand, and ignoring his gut feeling, Mats puts on his best smolder as he seductively coos, “How about you take another shower in about twenty minutes?”

He reaches for the waistband of Manuel’s training pants but the other man grabs him by the wrists. What he says knocks the air right out of him.

“No, Mats. I’m not interested in fucking second choice.”  
  
The only reaction he can muster is to tear his arms free from Manuel’s grasp. With each inhale he is having more difficulty breathing. It’s as if Manuel’s words planted a vice around Mats’ chest that slowly but surely threatens to suffocate him. He clasps at his shirt’s neckline with one hand, grabs for the door handle with the other. Manuel looks at him, there is defiance in his eyes but also something expectant. Mats doesn’t know what the other man could possibly want him to say after humiliating him like this. 

“Sorry about wasting your time,” he somehow manages to croak out past the uncomfortable pressure that is now starting to rise to his larynx.

He tries to swallow against the knot building in his throat but that only produces more pain. He musters all of his remaining strength to open the door and leaves the room with stiff, long strides. Breathing becomes a little easier once he’s in the hallway but his chest still hurts. Pulling the hotel keycard out of the pocket of his shorts, he can feel tears pricking at the back of his eyes.

Mats laughs despite himself. He won the World Championship with his team tonight yet here he is, close to crying just because he isn’t Manuel Neuer’s number one choice in potential sex partners. How was it that in the same night his dreams came true and his hopes were crushed?

 

Only a couple of hours later they board the plane, still mostly drunk from the celebration. Some of the players, including Manuel, keep drinking to delay the crash that will undoubtedly follow the sobering. Mats is offered several Bloody Mary’s but he declines them all and decides to use the long-haul flight to sleep. By the time they land in Berlin he is completely hung-over. But he relishes that every part of his body hurts, it’s only fair that his heart isn’t the only thing aching.

He hides his red eyes behind sunglasses. Initially he’s afraid of not being able to enjoy the reception at the Brandenburg Gate but despite his throbbing head and the nausea in his stomach, he does. Bringing home the title to those who supported them throughout their journey is bigger than him and his petty lovelornness. 

After the official welcome, Benedikt and Mats sit down on the side of the stage, their arms around each other and sway to the music. They try singing along but neither of them could ever hold a tune and it starts to worsen Mats’ headache.

“I’m going to propose to my girlfriend,” Benedikt tells him.

“Congratulations?” Mats squeaks.

“I wanted to tell you just in case you thought there was-“

Mats gets up quickly. Two rejections in two days is about all that he can handle. Two degradations in just as many would be too much.

 

* * *

 

Now he is back in Dortmund, back in real life and he’s miserable. Everything looks gray to him, dull and meaningless. He is starting to hate the city, the plebeian charm that used to attract him now sickens him. His occasional visits to Munich do nothing to cheer him up, au contraire, they remind him of something he can never have.

Mats starts eating, in hopes of burying his feelings under a crap load of food. He wanted Manuel Neuer so badly, desperately longed for the man to fill all of his holes. _Someday_ , is what he’d been consoling himself with before the World Cup. Only now that Manuel unmistakably turned him down Mats realizes how that minuscule gleam of hope he had been able to cling on to had helped him get through so many days. Ice cream is the only thing he can stuff himself with in an attempt to spackle the void. 

It doesn’t help that Manuel is everywhere he goes. The newsstands in Mats’ neighborhood are dominated by pictures of him emerging the nation’s hero in the World Cup and winning the Golden Glove award. Then there are announcements that a wax statue of him is being manufactured for Berlin’s Madam Tussauds museum. And of course at the measuring up, the asshole has to pose naked safe for a pair of gray boxers that despite their thick fabric manage to look positively obscene. Mats notices that Manuel lost weight and for some reason he’s behind on his manscaping and Mats hates that he immediately knows that because the fuzz between the man’s pectorals is such an unaccustomed sight.

Not long after, Manuel’s breakup from Kathrin fills the headlines. 

“Why does he pay her alimony? They’re not married, they don’t have kids,” Cathy asks Mats one night. 

“How the fuck would I know?” Mats shouts at her and it’s the first time he’s raised his voice at her in at least a year.

This is it, Mats thinks to himself, Manuel is using the wave of his success to come out. Mats is equal amounts terrified and excited as he awaits the big disclosure.

But Manu can play until he’s 55 and of course he wants to compete in the next World Cups. The venues, Russia and Qatar, are problematic countries for homosexuals, to say the least. So Mats is not all that surprised when the goalkeeper is spotted with some blonde bimbo. Again, Mats is involuntarily kept up to date with everything because the media is all over it.

Not even the commercial breaks on TV are safe anymore because of Manuel’s shiny new endorsement deals. Particularly the Coke Zero advertisement annoys him. It has an awkward homoerotic subtext to it that even Cathy picks up on.

 

 

Mats only gained a couple of kilos but he can feel them when he runs. The new weight slows him down, makes his movements on the pitch ponderous. He’s not playing well and the professional ill success only frustrates him more. Everything is going wrong. The eating becomes a vicious cycle.

The only constant in his life is Cathy, he realizes one day. She is the one to finally confront him about his unhealthy eating habits and helps him cut back on the dairy. They spend New Year’s in Dubai and in the last minutes of 2014, he gets down on one knee. Cathy is delirious with joy that he finally picked up on the not exactly subtle hints she dropped on national television and whenever they went shopping at Tiffany’s.

He knows she’s only pretending to start making plans about their wedding, he’s fully aware of the scrapbook she’s kept in her desk drawer for years.

“I know you’d probably prefer Dortmund-“

He shakes his head. “No, let’s get married in Munich.”

Cathy squeals again. Mats feels horrible that she thinks he’s doing it all for her.

“But I’m wearing a yellow suit.”

“If you must.”

A couple of hours into the new year, he startles awake from a nightmare he can’t remember anything of, except for dream-Cathy saying that stupid one-liner from the soda ad that has become somewhat of a meme on the internet, “If you want to, then I am not your girlfriend, but Manuel Neuer.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shame on me! When I found out the original of this song is from the 1960s, it was too late already, the chapter had been written. This song was actually the one that got the wheels in my head turning with the initial idea for this story so there is no way I could remove "You Keep Me Hangin' On".


	9. 2015 - Like A Prayer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys. I am so sorry about the delay. Well, never get a grad student to beta your stories is all I can say ;)  
> Nevertheless, I would like to thank [ j_eronimo ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/j_eronimo) again and also a huge shoutout to [ RocioWrites ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/RocioWrites/), who jumped in and proofread the content. Alas, here go the final two chapters.

**2015**

**_Like A Prayer_ **

 

_When you call my name_

_it's like a little prayer_

_I'm down on my knees_

_I wanna take you there_

 

The thick velvet curtains are drawn to keep any sunlight from falling through the windows of the establishment. It’s a waste of perfectly good natural lighting but nobody in here wants to be reminded that they’re getting drunk in the middle of the day. Electric candles on each table provide a barely sufficient source of light for the waiters to move between tables. The carefully crafted illusion of a timeless space is only betrayed when a new costumer opens the door to enter the pub.

Mats is by no means a religious person, his faith only goes as far as writing donation checks to Catholic charities and attending Christmas masses out of family obligation, yet he can’t shake the impression that there is something ethereal to the silhouette appearing in the gateway.

The stark contrasting brightness from the outside obscures the person who’s walking in, but Mats would know those shoulders and the poised strut anywhere. Then the door falls shut and the man is engulfed by darkness. Mats has to blink to readjust his eyes, and as he opens them he can make out the shape of the new patron heading toward the bar. He has almost reached his destination, when he spots the lonely table Mats is sitting at. For the briefest of moments, he looks confused and narrows his eyes as if to make sure Mats is who he thinks he is, but he only falters for a second before changing directions.

“You hate beer,” Manuel says and flops into the chair opposite his own.

It’s an opening so unsatisfying that Mats instantly feels discouraged about the conversation. 

What exactly did he hope to accomplish, lying in wait for the other man like this? They’ve barely spoken outside of work during the past year. When they did, it hadn’t gone past polite small talk, just the way it was before… Benedikt. Before both of them strived for their mutual friend’s attention and by circumstance were forced to interact with one another. Before they bonded over being screwed over without ever bringing it up. 

Then Mats had to fuck it all up by falling into some kind of _When Harry Met Sally_ trap, where two non-heterosexual men couldn’t be friends. It’s nothing this arranged coincidence of a meeting would change, Mats should have known better. He briefly considers asking for the check, but he can’t see the waiter who served him. Reluctantly he turns his attention back to the man at his table, a nervous tingle looming in the pit of his stomach. His body isn’t as fast to dismiss the reunion as his cowardly brain might be.

“Precisely why I’m drinking it.”

Mats takes a big gulp from his beer jug to underline his statement. Meanwhile Manuel inspects the two empty bottles on the table.

“If you’re trying to get hammered, this is not the right-“

“Yes, it’s non-alcoholic beer, I know what I ordered.”

In a more friendly tone he supplies, ”I’m hoping for a placebo effect.”

Faint little wrinkles appear on Manuel’s forehead as he studies him.

“You’d think a man who’s just come back from his honeymoon would be in a better mood.”

Mats spurts out a bitter laugh. A waitress, who has approached their table, keeps him from replying until she’s taken Manuel’s order and retreated again.

 “I rushed the wedding.”

“Hm?”

He didn't own up to the reason behind it when Cathy asked him why they couldn’t just wait another month or two to get married. This time it’s different, to Manuel Mats needs to confess. He is the only one who knows about his past with Benedikt, has actually been in Mats’ shoes. As slim as chances are that he’d want to, there is the possibility that Neuer might understand, could perhaps relate to his dilemma. Mats wishes he could have spoken to him months ago, when all hell broke loose. But until today, Manuel had never shown his face in the pub whenever Mats made the trip out to Munich. Asking the man for a meeting had been out of the question, another rejection from Manuel would have destroyed him for good.

Mats knows it is selfish to corner someone like this, to force his presence onto someone who obviously doesn’t seek it on their own. But he needs to get the load off his chest. 

“I pushed for a wedding on June 15th so it would happen before Benni’s on the 26th.”

The other man stays silent.

“It rained that day.”  
  
Manuel still doesn’t say anything and Mats downs the rest of his brew, the corners of his mouth twitching in disgust. “What kind of asshole marries a woman he doesn’t love and robs her of the dream wedding she spent years planning?”

He’s not sure whether he meant it as a rhetorical question or if he reckons Manuel will agree, perhaps tell him just how big a scumbag that makes him in his book. A part of him is itching for the latter, as if he needs someone to encourage his self-loathing. Mats certainly doesn’t expect to be met with compassion, yet it’s written all over the face Mats would describe as impish any other day.

“Wouldn’t it have been crueller the other way round? If the ceremony had been a perfect fairytale?”

Mats shrugs and orders another Bitburger 0,0% when the waitress comes back to their table to hand Manuel his pint. When she is gone, Mats inhales shakily before puffing out his breath with the next avowal.

“I wanted to spite Benedikt. Even though I knew he didn’t care.”

Surely his quick-thinking Sheepshead partner has deduced as much from what Mats said before but whatever absolution Mats is looking for would be void if he left anything open to interpretation.

Instead of embarking, Manuel asks, “Why did you have to marry in Munich of all places?”

Mats could tell him what he told everyone. Both his family and Cathy’s live in Bavaria. It’s been a partial motivation and a valid excuse. If he offered this explanation to Manuel, it would be more of a white lie than anything else. But Mats is determined to come clean about all his foolishness. God knows why, but he wants to make Manuel see just how low he’s sunk. Mats has always picked at scabs even though he knew it would slow the healing process.

“I wanted to spite you even though I knew you didn’t care.”

Unable to look at the other man, Mats traces the plastic imitation of melted wax on the false candle with his fingers. 

“Is that why you wore that horrible yellow cummerbund?”

Mats chuckles even though he virtually feels the blood trickling from the re-opened wound inside of him. Manuel didn’t correct him. And why would he? Mats knew what he said to be true, it’s why he said it in the first place. He really should be numb to the Bayern player’s indifference by now but the sting is as painful as ever. 

“Don’t forget the bowtie.”

“Fuck you and your bowties!”

With a half-hearted grin, Mats looks up. Manuel returns it but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes either. Trying to get a read on his emotions, Mats stares at the blond, scrutinizes him, but the blue eyes have lost all expressiveness. Mats is unsure how far into their conversation this happened. It’s an unsettling development. A shiver grabs hold of his arms and he can feel the hair on them rising in unease. He has seen the other man controlled before, knows he is a master of sangfroid. On the job, in dead-ball situations or penalty shootouts, the goalkeeper can become utterly unreadable, albeit mostly to his opponents. The stoicism he is displaying now is new and it scares Mats, especially that he is subject to it when they shouldn’t be adversaries.

After Manuel turned him down in Rio, Mats backed off. He never let him see how much he was hurting, always played it cool at their encounters as to not make the other man uncomfortable. Consumed by hot yearning, he felt as if he was constantly starving. The torch he carried for the other was burning so ardently it scorched his insides. Nonetheless he was determined to stay professional and unproblematic. At the premiere of the World Cup film, “Die Mannschaft”, Mats even asked Manuel to take a picture of him and Cathy for their Instagram accounts, to prove he hadn’t taken the dismissive words to heart, that he was okay with them being nothing more than friends. Not that any of Mats’ desperate attempts at airiness worked in making them go back to the way they’d been before that night, but it had certainly been better than _this_ …

Admitting to his act of defiance just now seemed to have eradicated all his efforts over the past year. Apparently they aren’t ready to laugh about Mats’ inappropriate feelings. Wringing his hands that are unaccustomedly sweaty, Mats tries to think of a way out. After laying bare and stripping his soul, he doesn’t want to start covering up again but he has to say something that will re-establish some sense of trust between them.

Out of nowhere, Manuel stops his racing thoughts by placing a hand on both of his, weighing them down until they sink onto the table. Then he pulls back, as if he belatedly realized he’s touched something poisonous. Mats is surprised he doesn’t wipe his hand on his jeans.

“You had the celebration at the place where Kathrin works.”

He doesn’t know what to say. Cathy had been the one to choose the venue where they would get together with their families after coming back from the registry office. Mats had actually forgotten Manuel’s ex-girlfriend worked in the hotel’s hair salon until he and his brother, sneaking away from the celebration, ran into her, coming back from her lunch break.

The waitress returns with Mats’ beer and takes the empty bottles with her.

In a frantic attempt to break the silence, Mats blurts out, “You’re no longer with her, are you?”

It has little to do with what Manuel was getting at but he responds, “She met someone. I’m not going to stand in the way of her happiness.”

Despite how calculated the words sound, Mats can tell the other man means them as the stony expression on his face yields to familiar benevolence. 

“That is… wow, that is selfless. Mature,” Mats hates how lame he sounds when he is absolutely serious in his adulation. Then he laughs self-deprecatingly. “Kind of the opposite of what I’ve been doing, huh?”

Manuel licks his lips. He seems conflicted whether or not to speak. Mats nods encouragingly.

The goalkeeper rakes his fingers through his short hair, then sighs. “For what it’s worth, don’t blame yourself for whatever went down with you and Benedikt.”

He pauses, his gaze drops down to his hands. Quietly he adds, “He’s not gay.”

Mats raises his eyebrows and snorts sardonically. “Uhm,” he too lowers his voice, “That man fucked both you and me. Which means he’s fucked more men than…,” _I have._ Manuel doesn’t need to hear him say that out loud. “I mean, sure, once doesn’t count, but two longstanding flings?” 

Leaning across the table, Manuel looks truly apologetic and Mats wonders whether he only imagined the iciness earlier.

“It took me some time to figure it out. Probably took him even longer.”

Mats keeps staring at the other man incredulously, shaking his head almost imperceptibly.

Weighing his next words, Manuel purses his lips. “I guess it’s like with those people you hear about, who go on living their lives thinking they are straight and then suddenly realize they aren’t.”

“But that’s because of, you know, pressure to conform.”

Manuel doesn't look too comfortable discussing this but he opened this can of worms, certainly he can’t expect Mats not to try to get to the bottom of it.

“Maybe that’s what it was for Bene. He was still in school when he signed with Schalke, lost a lot of friends who were jealous, others because training took up all our free time. We bonded over that. Then he found out about me, you know…,” Manuel rubs his cheek in a clumsy-looking gesture. “I’m not sure, I’m not going to go out on a limb here with speculations. You’d have to ask him.”

Mats doesn’t bother with refilling his mug, he drinks straight from the bottle as he mulls this over.

“I just don’t get why… if you’re right and it was _just a phase,_ ” Mats cringes, he hates the phrase even if in this case it were to be true, “Why did he get involved with me?”

“Look, I just thought you’d want to know and maybe it would help you move on-”

“On the other hand, it would explain so much. If you think about it, the only one Benni could ever fully commit to was his girlfr… his wife.“

“Like I said, you’d have to speak to him.”

Manuel stands and pulls his wallet from the back-pocket of his jeans. When he throws a fiver onto the table, Mats looks up at him in confusion. “What are you doing?”

“I’m leaving. You can have my beer if you want it. Slight warning, that one you might actually feel.”

“What?” Mats chokes out, “Why?”

He’s appalled by how whiny he sounds. 

“I can’t leave my dog alone for too long,” Manuel has already taken a step away from the table, then he turns back, his shoulders sagging, “You know, when I came in and I saw you sitting here, for a second I thought you’d come for me.”

Mats can feel his heart beat vigorously in his chest. He certainly didn't expect this turn of events. It was not something he planned to admit, because he didn’t want Manuel to peg him for a stalker, but now it seems that it’s exactly what Manuel needs to hear. “I did.”

“Of all the beer joints in all of Munich…”

Panicked, Mats gets up as well. He feels cornered and something in Manuel’s last words makes him think that letting the man leave now would be the worst thing he could do, if he ever wants to patch things up with him, “I asked around where you like to hang out. I hoped I’d run into you, I just wanted to have an unforced conversation with you again. As friends.”

Manuel buries his head in his hands and Mats has to strain his ears to make out the words he is mumbling into his palms. They sound suspiciously like, “Why did you have to ruin this place for me?”

The patrons on the other side of the room are staring at them now. They are too far away to understand what the footballers are talking about but Mats fears their body language tells them enough. He pulls at Manuel’s elbow, both to liberate his face and to get him to sit back down. The other man tears his arm free from Mats’ grasp but gets back into the chair.

“What are you talking about? How could I have ruined anything for you?” Mats asks in a hushed voice, sitting as well.

“I’m aware this place is a dive but…”, he looks positively deflated as he shrugs, “It was mine. There were no Ultras telling me this was their territory. Nobody asking for an autograph. It was just a place where I could go and not be Manuel Neuer for a while. Then you invade it just like you invade everything, every thought-,” Manuel interrupts himself.

There is a rawness in his voice Mats has never heard before. The indifference is gone, as if all of Manuel’s feelings have been hidden behind a safety-sheet that he's pulled so tautly, it ripped apart and now everything’s spilling out through the gashes. He sounds so utterly broken that Mats is having a hard time maintaining the hot anger rushing to his head but he can’t just sit there and take an accusation that doesn’t make any sense to him.

“Hang on a minute! I came here to talk to you, not to take anything from you. Why are you acting like I offended you?”

“Because you’re going on and on about Benedikt and you act as if I-”

“You brought him up this time!“

A recognition dawns on Mats, a feeling like he’s been here before. At first he thinks it’s just a treacherous case of déjà-vu, then he understands that he himself has felt this way once, when Benedikt was talking about Manuel. Unheeded. Envious. Jealous. 

He’s so astonished that he misses the first part of what Manuel is saying next. “…the only thing you care about.“

Mats shakes his head in confusion and his voice quavers as he speaks.

“You don’t get to be mad at me! I wasn’t the one to degrade you to _second choice_.”

Manuel sneers in angry disbelief. “Yeah, you were?!”

“I don’t get you. You told me you weren’t interested.”

“I told you I wasn’t interested in being a palate cleanser.”

There is a ringing in Mats’ ears after the words have advanced to his brain. He tries to play the scene in Rio back in his mind but there is no need. Mats knows everything would have ended differently if these had been the words uttered.

“That is not what you said.”

Mats can see Manuel’s Adam’s apple bob.

“What does the exact wording matter? You could have proved me wrong. At any point you could have said, ‘ _you’re not, Manu’,_ hell, at least something like, ‘ _I’m not there yet but it could be more_ ’. Instead you were all ‘ _alright, sorry about wasting your time’_ and you left.”

Mats blinks. “You said-“

“Whatever. Our situation obviously hasn’t changed.”

Mats rubs at his temple, he is still trying to catch up and wrap his head around what Manuel said, when the other man gets up to leave again. He grabs his wrist.

“We’re not done here. Wait outside for me!,” Mats orders, then heads over to the bar to pay for their drinks.

He’s not sure whether Manuel will oblige him and he prepares for the worst, but as Mats leaves the pub he can see the tall blond a couple of meters away, standing by his car. Mats sprints toward him.

“Manuel, you’re not a palate cleanser!”

“Mats-“

“Neither are you a rebound or a stopgap or whatever other stupid word you can come up with. Now can you please take me-“

Manuel smiles but its tinged with such sadness it might as well have been a sob.

_“_ You’re still not over Benedikt, getting married just because he is.”

Mats sighs.

“That is something way too complex to be discussed out here on the street. But you can trust me when I tell you that you’re the one that I want.”

Manuel chews on his lower lip but Mats makes sure to hold his gaze. “I’m serious, I want you.”

Blue eyes vanish behind reddened lids. Mats wants to touch the conflicted face so badly but he settles for brushing his thumb across the back of Manuel’s hand. Finally he opens his eyes.

“Did you drive here?”

The defender nods.

“Alright, follow me in your car!”

 

 The other man is already inside when Mats parks his sports coupé in front of Manuel’s house. Mats remains seated for a few minutes, trying to collect himself. His heartbeat pounds in his ears, he is equal amounts terrified of missing this opportunity and messing it up. Mats is still not sure what exactly happened in the past thirty minutes, what happened in the past three years for that matter. All he knows is that he has been granted this one last shot, additional five minutes to an already overrun period of extra time, so he needs to show Manuel that he’s in it to win it. He can only think of one way to profess his sincerity and he hopes he doesn’t embarrass himself in the process. Mats hasn’t been with a man for a while, Manuel on the other hand only sticks to keeping a clean sheet on the pitch.

Before his nerves can get the better of him, Mats gets out of the vehicle and rings the doorbell. Somewhere inside the building he can hear a dog bark, then Manuel opens, looking as nervous as Mats feels. As the door falls shut behind him, Mats draws the other man close and loops his arms underneath his. Manuel reciprocates the embrace, placing one hand into Mats’ neck and the other on his lower back. A warm tingling spreads on Mats’ skin and he can feel his face heat up when Manuel’s head sinks onto Mats’ shoulder. They’ve hugged before, fleetingly on the pitch. Sometimes more than twice per match, whenever they were on the same team, but Mats realizes of how little importance quantity is. They’ve never taken the time to hold on to one another and just feel their warmth and strength as they do now. Mats breathes the other man in, his sunshine-sweat, the faint whiffs of his woody cologne. He buries his nose in Manuel’s neck and places a light kiss there. He can feel Manuel tremble. The blond tightens his arms around Mats, who can’t help but notice the growing hardness against his hip. A moan escapes his lips.

“Where’s your bedroom?”

With great reluctance Manuel lets go of Mats and leads the way down the corridor. 

Once they’ve reached it, Manu turns around and the look is back, the one that says he is desperate to get a read on Mats. He’s sure he’s been pretty clear with his intentions but to assure Manuel he’s not going to run as soon as the dicks are out of the pants, he shoves the other toward the bed in what he hopes is a seductive taking of helm. Manuel sits on the edge of the giant box-spring, surveying him curiously. Mats steps closer, positions himself between the goalkeeper’s legs and gets down on his knees. His hands reach out to unzip Manuel’s jeans. They’re not the man’s tightest pair- Mats remembers those only too well- but he is still having trouble pushing them down far enough to gain access to the desired region. At first Manuel watches him amusedly, then he takes pity on him. He stands, pulls off his jeans and his socks right along with them. Mats is impressed. Pragmatic as he is, Manuel continues to undress. His bicep flexes as he bends one arm onto his back to tug his shirt over his head. His naked torso has Mats staring up at him, completely mesmerized. But when Manuel moves to remove the briefs he is wearing, the brunet insists on doing the honors. Still kneeling on the floor, Mats peels them from Manuel’s hips slowly, mindfully of the sensitive member underneath. When the underwear falls to the floor, pooling around Manuel’s ankles, Mats finds himself at eye level with an impressive erection and he gives it a sampling lick. Manuel draws in a breath and his head falls back ever so slightly. Encouraged, Mats lets his tongue and lips wander along the shaft, leaving as much saliva behind as he can produce on the spot. Finally his mouth dwells on the glans and he starts sucking softly. Inching forward, he takes in more of the throbbing length. The prominent vein on the underside of Manuel’s cock pulsates against his tongue, which he pushes up to apply counter-pressure. Manuel grunts and Mats tries to lock eyes with him but strands of hair falling from his forehead keep him from seeing beyond the man’s quivering stomach.

“Hold on a second,” Manuel says and sits back down on the bed.

Mats attempts to crawl closer but Manu pants, “Get up here!”

His knees thank him as he settles on the softer padding. While Manuel moves his pillows to lie down comfortably, Mats gently pushes against his thighs to get him to spread his legs wide enough to accommodate Mats between them. As soon as he’s crouching in an ideal position, his lips latch on to Manuel’s cock again and this time he starts bobbing his head up and down with ardent zeal. What part of it his mouth can’t reach, his hand takes care of with rotating, screwing movements he himself enjoys around the base. 

Dortmund is home to Germany’s biggest football stadium and in Mats’ best moments, almost all of the packed arena’s visitors were shouting to pay tribute to him. 80.000 people calling out his name never failed to give him goosebumps. Nonetheless, the experience pales in comparison to what it feels like to have it slip past Manuel Neuer’s lips now. The man doesn’t so much say his name as he breathes it and Mats feels a tightening in his chest. If there ever was anything that could make him come without being touched, this sound would be it. He has to pull off for a second to catch his breath and squeeze his own cock. His jaw is growing tired and he is pretty sure Manuel’s sighs are a sign of him being almost there himself but Mats doesn’t want it to end just yet. After all, he doesn’t know what will happen when it does.

As he continues to fondle Manuel’s arousal with the hand not currently down his boxers, he whispers, “God, I want to feel it inside of me.”

“What’s keeping you?,” Manuel asks and props himself onto his elbows.

“I just thought… for you,” his head moves down again but Manuel sits up and places one hand against Mats’ chin.

“Come here,” he says and shuffles a little so there is more space for Mats to lie down next to him.

When he does, Manuel turns toward him and kisses him. Their tongues lick at each other like flames, hot and unbridled. Then Manuel leans over further, his lips veer off course. Their upper bodies brush, and his hand disappears in the bedside table next to Mats’ head. Before Mats can see what he’s retrieved, Manuel moves down on the bed. It’s his turn to pull at Mats pants, he manages to get them off when the defender raises his hips. He removes his underwear as well and Mats can feel heat rise to his face when he’s asked to put up his knees. There’s the informative clicking of a bottle cap being opened, followed by a wet squeezing noise. Mats hears Manuel warm up the liquid between his palms, then there is a hand on one of his cheeks spreading it away from the other to make room for a slick finger probing at his most intimate opening. 

His skin breaks out in goosebumps as Manuel lightly tabs at the sensitive area, stimulating the nerve endings with a frustrating tenderness. The teasing stops before Mats can complain, and as he adds more pressure, the blond asks, “Is this okay?”

The Dortmund player nods and because he doesn’t know whether the other man actually sees him from down there- he couldn’t possibly make eye contact right now-, he croaks out a “Yes!”

Manuel’s finger slips in easily and he makes some kind of swirling movements that sends Mats’ toes curling. He ponders over the absent feeling of fingernails, then he remembers Manuel keeps them short and round so they “fit into his gloves”- _yeah right_.

Not long after, he adds another digit and when both fingers are in to the second knuckle, he bends them and rubs the tips against Mats’ prostate. One of his legs jerks at the pleasurable sensation and almost kicks Manuel’s shoulder.

“Sorry,” he gasps but the other man just chuckles and continues to massage the erogenous gland with expertise and precision. Briefly, Mats marvels at the fact that someone with such _manual_ skills is called _Manuel_. It’s his last coherent thought before he lets himself get lost in the thrilling build-up the handyman performs on him, his cock growing harder and heavier than Mats thought it capable.

“You think you’re ready?,” Manuel asks, when he almost has his whole hand inside of Mats.

Trudging through the hazy fog of bliss, Mats nods eagerly and wipes a drop of his own pre-ejaculate from his stomach before grabbing at the man between his legs. They lock lips again and Mats sucks on Manuel’s tongue, trying to quench an emerging thirst. When the kiss ends Mats feels positively intoxicated, drunk on the other man. While Manuel puts on the condom he undoubtedly also produced from the goody drawer and slathers himself with lube, Mats takes off his shirt, the only thing still separating them from full-on skin contact. 

The goalkeeper positions himself on top of Mats and the sheer weight of his body pressing his own into the mattress has him ready to explode. His eyes flutter shut when he feels the head of Manuel’s cock poking in. Before Manuel can even inquire, Mats nods and moves his hand down to guide him along. He’s not quite fully sheathed when Mats gasps and asks for a quick break. Manuel immediately stops his descend and holding himself up with only one hand, he starts caressing Mats’ forehead and cheek with the other. Mats opens his eyes and he’s almost shocked to find Manuel’s face so close to his. There is a single bead of sweat on his temple, that Mats traces with his finger. Without thinking, he draws it against his lips to taste it. Manuel stares at him.

“Okay, I’m good to go.” 

Manuel maintains eye contact as he starts moving, carefully studying Mats’ face for any sign of discomfort.

“I’m fine, I swear, just needed a little time to adjust,” he laughs. Despite his conviction that Manuel Neuer didn’t need his ego stroked, he throws in, “You’re not exactly small.”

As expected, the man breaks out into a cheeky grin, then he pulls out and gives an experimental thrust. Mats moans and finds his hands clutching Manuel’s back, when he does it again. He leaves them there and each time Manu’s pelvis comes down on him, he can feel the skin underneath his fingertips dampen a little further. Pulling his knees toward his own shoulders, allowing Manuel to pick up the pace and tap into depths of him he didn’t know could be reached, Mats can feel himself being stretched and opened. The intumescent warmth pushing into him fills him up and fills him in and he’s afraid of brimming over.

His throat is too parched to produce anything more than a rasping sound as he writhes against the high thread count sheets. Then he is stilled by Manuel’s hands in his hair. Rather than petting or pulling it, he’s weaving his fingers through it and Mats lets his head rest in those laced hands as if they were a pillow. They’ve slowed again but Mats is hanging by a thread nonetheless, what little is left of his pride the only thing holding him back from letting loose.

Determined not to come first, he wraps his legs around Manuel’s back and one of his heels digs into the man’s butt-cheek, pushing him in even deeper. He’s rocking on his tailbone as he clenches down around Manuel. A wheeze escapes Manu, who counters immediately by letting Mats’ head slip softly back onto the actual cushion so he can take hold of the cock nestled between both of their stomachs. He gives it a few determined pulls and Mats’ knees sink away to the side helplessly. He’s about to give up and give in when he thinks of a last ace in the hole, quite literally. His forefinger sneaks its way down there and when he starts rubbing against the ring of muscles, Manuel’s face comes down next to Mats’. Mats would have liked to look at him, see him as he culminated, but lying cheek to cheek, he can feel Manuel’s climax ripple through his skin. As if the contact were a conductor of electricity, the trembling devolves upon him and he jolts and shudders just as Manuel’s pulsating slows.

 

Mats comes back from cleaning himself up to find Manuel fast asleep. He bends down and pulls a blanket over the naked body, takes a moment to linger and breathe him in. Begrudgingly, he retreats from the bed. Manuel would probably consider Mats watching him sleep creepy. He certainly found the kid at his first training camp weird who stayed up when they’d all gone to bed, sat on a chair and observed them in their bunks.

Mats doesn’t know what to do. Technically he invited himself here, so he has no right to spend any more time here now that his _job_ is done. He would like nothing more than to just lie down next to Manuel but he’s afraid that would seem presumptuous and despite having spent some time _on_ the bed, laying _in_ it now, unsolicited, would feel like an intrusion.

But he doesn’t want to just leave. They still have to talk, there have been too many misunderstandings between them that need to be resolved. 

Because he feels weird and a little cold, buck naked in his friend’s home, he decides to get dressed, plying his boxer shorts from underneath Manu’s left foot. There is a slight prickle in his throat, so he walks into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water. When he turns off the tap, he hears scratching noises, the telltale sound of paws on wooden floors and soon enough, big brown puppy eyes stare up at him.

“Hey,” Mats greets the dog.

It barks in response and wags its tail.

“Hush, be quiet, your owner is sleeping.”

Mats pats the mutt’s head. The dog howls, then walks to the front door, where it sits down and looks at Mats expectantly. Cathy spends more time with Coco, their Labrador, than he does, still he knows enough dog behavior to tell what this one wants.

“Alright, but shush!”

He sips his water as he walks back to the bedroom to retrieve his shoes. He grabs the leash and doggy bags from the table beside the front door. Manuel’s keys are dangling from the inside lock, but taking them would be even more overbearing, so he leaves them where they are. He’d just have to wake him when he comes back and that will solve his earlier problem too.

 

About fifteen minutes later, after he’s walked the dog around the block and it made a nice little present that Mats disposed of in an exemplary manner, he rings Manuel’s doorbell for the second time that day. There is no immediate response, which even the dog seems to register as unusual because it holds up his front paws, then lets them drop against the door.

Mats is about to buzz again, when it is opened by a heap of blankets.

“I thought you’d left,” Manuel says.

Trying to get a look at the face underneath all the layers, Mats leans forward.

“You thought I stole your dog?”

Manuel just blinks at him, then looks down at the furry creature scurrying around his naked feet.

Mats chuckles. “Didn’t you notice your dog was missing?”

Finally, Manuel takes a step back and lets Mats in, who kicks the door shut before reaching out to unwrap the other man.

“I didn’t make it out of bed until just now.”

“So you’re still naked underneath all that?” Mats attempts a wicked grin but falters when Manuel lets the covers fall to the floor, revealing a crumpled face and red eyes.

“I woke up when I head the door slam shut.”

Mats pulls the other man into his arms. “Oh. I didn’t mean to- You were asleep and I didn’t know what to do and then your dog needed to be walked…”

“And that was so sweet of you. I’m really pathetic, aren’t I?”

Mats shakes his head and kisses him. It’s delicate this time, none of the fiery passion from before, but warming devotion instead.

“I think it’s time we finally talk.”

Manuel closes his eyes. When he opens them again he looks more like his usual self.

“I don’t think I can talk about feelings while sober. Remember, I didn’t have those three bottles of placebos you had.”

“Shut up!” Mats says and picks up the blanket before dragging Manuel back to his bedroom.


	10. Chapter 10

**2016**

**_Never Gonna Give You Up_ **

 

_We’ve known each other for so long,  
Your heart’s been aching but you’re too shy to say it_

 

Manuel steps out of the shower, hot steam still clouding the air in the hotel bathroom. He doesn’t bother patting himself down with a towel, instead grabs a bottle of shaving foam from his toilet kit and rubs the contents all over his wet chest and crotch, then underneath his armpits. Finally he spreads some into the crack of his buttocks. He has just changed the blade in his body razor, when he hears the door of the room fall shut and a second later a sandy, worn out Mats steps into the bathroom. He stays silent at Manuel’s greeting, just bites his lips as he takes in the naked body before him. The look of fatigue on his face wanes as he stares in obvious interest. Manuel can feel his cock twitch in response, but that’ll have to wait. The hot water has softened his skin and hair just perfectly for his task and because he has to wash up again after, they’d be wasting a whole lot of water if they got distracted now. In a desert city, they really can’t have that.

They’re in Dubai, where Mats and Manuel are spending precious ten days of their winter holidays together, before Borussia Dortmund’s training camp starts here on January 7th. The goalkeeper has to leave on the 6th for Doha, where Bayern set up camp, but since it’s just a one-hour flight along the Persian Gulf coast, their trip practically planned itself. Escaping the German frost to celebrate New Year’s Eve in a place where winter means a water temperature of 25 degrees centigrade sounded like the perfect vacation to both of them. Now that they’re here though, they barely take advantage of sea and sun. They don’t leave the room much, at least not together. The one time they did and went out for Japanese food, the restaurant owners couldn’t believe their luck when they approached renowned goalkeeper Manuel Neuer only to find another world champion sitting there at the table with him. The staff had insisted on taking pictures with them.

Mats and Manu would never misbehave in public but being seen together too often could be a dangerous thing in any case. Not only when word got out back home but also here, where their relationship is not only a threat to their careers but could result in imprisonment. Officially, Mats is staying in a suite with Cathy on the 15th floor, unofficially he sleeps in Neuer’s studio on the 13th.

They order room service most of the time, the hotel employees already know not to make a fuss about setting up. Instead they hand the food cart over to Manu at the door and are generously tipped for less effort on their behalf.

To his surprise, Manuel doesn’t mind being confined indoors. It’s unlike him, usually he’s more active than this, strives to get out and busy himself, but for the first time, he is comfortable putting his feet up. The urge to bustle disappears when he’s with Mats. He’s happy to just be. To sleep and eat and breathe in the same room as the other man, watch TV or watch Mats read. it definitely helps that their lodging is not so much a room as it is a small apartment, there’s plenty of open space, it has its own dining area and living room, it even has a jacuzzi in the bathroom. If either of them does feel cooped up, they head to the roof top to swim lengths in the pool or work out in the gym. Now and again, Mats spends some time with Cathy at the beach. He shared a piece of advice with Manuel, the more holiday pictures you post yourself, the less interesting you become to paparazzi.

“How was _sunbathing_?” Manuel asks.

“This time we actually went swimming,” Mats chuckles as he turns toward the sink to wash his hands. Manuel smirks.

The younger dries his hands with a fluffy towel but makes no move to leave the bathroom, watching Manuel intently as he raises his left arm over his head and removes the cream and the hair it covers. When Manuel is happy with the result, he gently nudges Mats out of the way so he can rinse the razor in the sink before moving on to the other side.

Mats steps into one of the puddles the dripping man left in his wake, the sand on his toes turning it into sludge. He takes the shaving device from Manuel’s hand.

“May I?,” he asks.

Manuel nods somewhat perplexed and quizzically holds up his right arm. Applying delicate pressure, Mats strokes the black and green apparatus along the foam besmeared area into the direction of hair growth. When he’s finished, he holds the pivoting three blade head underneath the stream of water just as Manuel had done. As soon as it’s clean, he turns off the tap and begins to shave Manuel’s chest. 

He pays close attention to every raising and every dip he comes across, adapting his gentle movements to the terrain. The enamored look with which he does it, reminds Manuel of an artist wielding his brush. There is a soothing quality to the procedure. Mats manages to turn Manu’s weekly chore into something of a spa treatment. More than that, the sensation of the razor gliding along his skin paired with Mats’ hot breath ghosting across the bare patches no longer covered by foam or hair, has some of Manuel’s blood rush to his nether regions. Especially, when the hand not holding the razor trails down Manuel’s stomach.

“What about…?” Mats asks and puts the razor aside to grab the shaving gel.

“If you want to, I can take it from here,” Manuel says but truthfully he finds the idea of Mats taking the sharp object to his junk a little exciting. The mind-blowing illegal sex they’ve been having here in the United Arab Emirates in the past couple of days went to show that they both have a little thing for risks. Or maybe it’s the trust they bestow upon each other that they’re getting off to, they don’t know.

“What if I want to continue?”

Mats sprays some gel into his hand and rubs it between his palms so it turns to creamy white foam. When Manuel nods his head, the defender starts applying a touch up layer onto the stubble of pubic hair. Mats raises his eyebrows when Manuel’s cock reacts to the touch immediately, standing at full attention. “Or am I too much of a distraction?”

Trying to play it cool, the goalkeeper justifies, “Having a hard-on actually helps. Keeps the skin taut and makes the balls more accessible.”

“Is that so?” Mats smirks. “Well, in that case, I couldn’t possibly let you continue on your own, could I?”

“In that case…,” Manuel repeats and rummages through his toiletry bag.

Mats shakes his head, amused. “How many razors do you have?”

“Three. One for my face, one for my body and one for your favorite area,” he winks as he hands Mats the razor he was looking for.

“My favorite? Is that an attempt to remind me what’s at stake?”

“You know it.”

Mats grins broadly and Manuel can feel his heart swell in his chest. It’s unfathomable to him how he could ever not have loved that smile.

The dark haired man looks around the bathroom. “I think it might be best if you lie down somewhere.”

Manuel grabs a towel from the rack above the tub and they head out into the living room of the studio. He spreads the terry cloth neatly out on the couch before he lays down on his back. Not knowing what to do with his hands, he intertwines them behind his head. Mats snorts out a cackle at the posture and shakes his head as he sits down between Manuel’s legs. He smoothly mows down the happy trail and with even strokes works his way from his groin to his balls, where he slows his movements and precedes with extra caution. With his thumb he gently flattens the skin folds and grooves so none of them get into the path of the blade. Manuel sucks his lips into his mouth to keep from grunting. He’s sure that some of Mats’ tender handling is purely meant to tease him because a damn shave shouldn’t feel this good.

When the younger is done with his testes and what little bloom grew on his perineum, Mats admires his work proudly and Manuel leans up on his elbows.

“Are you done? Or-“

Mats self-contented smile doesn’t waver when they make eye contact. “Do you trust me enough to let me shave your ass?”

“It’s the trickiest spot for me to reach. This is where I could really use some assistance.”

“Turn around then!”

Manuel assumes something akin to the Child’s Pose in yoga, and places a hand on each cheek, pulling them apart to give Mats easy access. He has to think of a film Benedikt once told him about, where a shaving accident lands a girl in the hospital with an anal fissure. Manuel isn’t sure how he could ever explain to the Bayern bosses or the medical staff that he would have to sit out training because he let the captain of a rival club nick his sphincter. But no such bad luck, Mats is every bit as careful as he was with his balls, pulling the skin away from the razor. 

When Mats is satisfied with his handiwork, he swats Manuel’s butt playfully and they get into the shower together. While the goalkeeper is busy rinsing off the excess foam and the severed hair that cling to his sticky skin, Mats washes the sand from his feet. Then, Manuel feels pants of hot breath caressing his damp skin as the other man moves closer toward him, stepping out of Manuel’s field of vision at the same time. There is a thrilling tickle at the back of his neck as Mats’ designer stubble scrapes against it in his eagerness to kiss his way down Manuel’s spine. He reaches the last of his ribs and Manuel can feel his back hollow as his ass gravitates towards Mats on its own account. Moaning ecstatically, the defender rubs his face against Manuel’s lower back as he gets down on his knees. 

“I love this arch right here,” he mumbles but his words are not quite drowned by rainfall overhead.

Mats continues to dig his fingers into his loin as he starts to nibble just at the top of his gluteal cleft, his teeth grazing the spot where his tailbone ends.

When Manuel turns off the water, a few single droplets still coming down on them, Mats tongue snakes out of his mouth and into the crevice. In his attempt to brace himself against the shower wall, Manuel knocks over the little shampoo bottles on the caddy. He can feel the vibration of Mats’ chuckle where his larynx lines up with Manuel’s butt crack. Then he is spread open, parted like the Red Sea and Mats’ face disappears into him. His tongue strokes the conglomerate of nerves back there, setting them ablaze, before working its way deeper. Manuel’s breath is coming out in harsh puffs and he can see the minuscule marks of mist he leaves on the glass door of the shower. Instead of clearing up when the hot water was turned off, the stall is as fogged over as ever, revealing hand prints from the last time they got dirty cleaning themselves.

 

 

That night they lie in bed, Mats’ head rests on Manuel’s silky soft chest. They left the door to the balcony ajar because the windows don’t open and it’s the only way they could air out the room. In the distance they can hear waves crashing onto the shore and it’s the only sound for a while, before Mats speaks.

“Do you think it’s going so well between us because we only see each other sporadically?”

Manuel’s fingers halt their movements where they’ve been tickling Mats’ back.

“Do you regret spending the holidays with me?”

Truthfully he was a little worried that playing house after six months of being in a long-distance relationship, accelerating from zero to one hundred, had been moving too fast.

“The opposite,” Mats inhales audibly, then turns so his chest is flush against Manuel’s and he can look into his face unhindered, “I’ve had several offers from Munich and I was wondering how you feel about that.”

Manuel tries hard not to let the hope sink its teeth into him too deeply but he is acutely aware of his beating heart. He’s sure Mats feels it to, knocking at his own.

“Mats, far be it from me to tell you what to do, it’s your career.”

The response earns him an insincere punch to his shoulder.

“I don’t want a diplomatic response from my teammate, I am asking you as my partner.”

Manuel hopes that in the half-dark Mats doesn’t see the way the corners of his mouth twitch upward at the term.

He sighs. “I have no idea what is going on in that pretty head of yours. If you think you have to move to Munich to keep me, you’re wrong. If you think you have to stay away from Munich because otherwise I could get tired of you, you’re wrong again.”

As far as Manuel can tell, Mats looks both pleased and irritated so he concludes, “For what it’s worth, I’d love to see you every day. I’d love for us to always play on the same team. I’d love…,” and because Mats has been the one to take a lot of first steps for them and now it’s his turn,

“I love you.” 

He’s not sure whether people actually say that to one another or if it’s one of those relationship myths but it’s true and he needs the other man to know. They’ve lost way too much time already because Manuel was too afraid to let the other man see just how deeply he cares for him.

His heart still aches when he thinks of the unnecessary pain he has caused them both and he has sworn to himself that he will spend the rest of his life trying to make it up to Mats. He’ll never let him down again.

He startles as the ceiling lights come on and for a moment there are big blue spots dancing in his head, burned into his retinas. Mats apologizes, “Wrong switch, sorry, I just meant to turn on the bedside lamp.”

Manuel just shakes his head and blinks deliberately a couple of times, until he no longer feels blinded.

“You know, this time last year, I was here, in this very hotel and I couldn’t have felt crappier.”

The blond closes his eyes again, this time in shame. He opens them again when he feels Mats’ nose nudging his.

“Now I’m back in the same spot, only I’m in a totally different place. I couldn’t be happier!”

Manuel can feel a smile wrinkle his nose and forehead. “You’re rhyming now? What, you’re a poet and you don’t know it?”

“Shut up, you moron!”

Manuel feigns outrage and Mats giggles so jovially that the older is left with no choice but to pepper kisses all over his glowing face.

“Wait, no, Manu, let me-,” he keens but the goalkeeper has taken to sucking at his earlobe. Finally, he makes use of his full body weight and overthrows Manuel.

As he straddles him like there was nothing to it, a saying comes to Manu's mind, something that stayed with him ever since he first heard it back in school. _Alexander the Great was only ever defeated by his lover’s thighs._ He’d never compare himself to the likes of the Macedonian king but he’s a warrior of sorts, breaking records for games unbeaten. They call him Neuer the Wall and yet here he is, at the mercy of this 27-year old opposing player and loving every second of it. A defender of all people renders him utterly defenseless and unprecedented for him, relinquishing control has never been more gratifying.

Mats grabs his wrists and holds them above Manuel’s head.

“Are you listening?”

“I am listening,” Manuel replies earnestly.

“What I am trying to tell you is that I love you too.”

Manuel’s back comes off the mattress as he tries to kiss Mats but the man is still holding him down firmly.

“You’re the One.”

 

* * *

 

Manuel inhales fresh mountain air as he throws the windows open wide. The smell of sex seems to follow them wherever they go, but it’s early June and they don’t mind letting some air in. Between training camp in Switzerland and their departure to France, the German internationals have two days to themselves before they need to switch to European Championship mode. Manuel and Mats spend those 48 hours together at the Tegernsee, where they live in Mats’ summer rental. A few minutes uphill is the construction site, where the building of Manuel’s villa draws to a close. In a couple of months time the place will be inhabitable. They could spend their next New Year’s Eve there, around the cozy fireplace, if they wanted to.

The lake feels like a milestone to Manuel, because seven years ago almost to the day, he came here and for the first time, he was truly confronted with Mats. They first saw each other ten years ago, when Bayern Munich played Schalke in the League Cup semifinal. Manuel was watching the game from the bench, Mats was sent on in the second half. Six months later, they actually met for the first time and not long after introductions were made, they decided they didn’t like each other. They had gone their separate ways up until that fateful pre-Sweden Under-21 camp in 2009.

While Mats sees Dubai and the 365 days between 2015 and 2016 as his turning point, for Manuel the circle is complete here, in the Bavarian Alps.

Now they’re both on amicable terms with their ex-boyfriend again, they’ve realized that without him they might have never gotten together. If it weren’t for Benedikt, who just had to befriend the both of them, they would have quite possibly steered clear of one another to this very day. They’ve moved past the misunderstandings and the jealousy and they can laugh about it now. Mats and Manuel have come to call the Schalke captain “Cupid” as an inside joke.

A set of arms slips around Manuel’s waist and he turns his face so he can kiss Mats’ cheek.

“We should come back here after the tournament!”

Manuel hums in agreement.

Two weeks ago, Mats signed a five year contract with FC Bayern Munich. The younger man is excited to be coming home. Manuel is looking forward to the daily privilege of them playing on the same team.


End file.
